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HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


CONDENSED  NOVELS. 

BY 

BRET  HARTE. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  S.  EYTINGE,  JR. 


BOSTON : 


HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 
1880. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of 

BY  BRET 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian 


Congress,  in  the  year  1871, 

HARTE, 

of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


University  Press:  John  Wilson  &  Son, 
Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Handsome  is  a«  Handsome  does.    By  Ch  a  R— de  1 

Loth  AW.    By  Mr.  Benjamins  19 

Mtjck-a-Muok.    After  Cooper  36 

r  Terence  Denville.    By  Ch— 1— s  L — v — r     .      .  49 

\\ 

Ci^  Selina  Sedilia.    By  Miss  M.  E.  B — dd — and  Mrs. 

^    H— n— y  W— d  59 

The    Kinety-Nine    Guardsmen.    By  Al — x — d — r 
D— m— s  74 

i^The  Dweller  of  the  Threshold.   By  Sir  Ed — d 

L— tt— n  B— Iw— r  .86 

V 

Q  The  Haunted  Man.    By  Ch— r— s  D — ck— ns       .  95 

Miss  Mix.    By  Ch— 1— tte  Br— nte      ....  110 

.  Guy  Heavystone.     By  the  Author  of     Sword  and 
\    Gun"  '   .       .       .  127 

V  Mr.  Midshipman  Breezy.    By  Captain  M— rry— t, 
*  R.  N  139 

John  Jenkins.    By  T.  S.  A — ^th— r       .      .      .  154 


I  1 59696 


fV  CONTENTS. 

No  Title.    By  W— Ik— e  C— 11— ns     ....  163 

N  N.    Being  a  Novel  in  the  Frencli  Paragraphic  Style  177 

Fantine.    After  the  French  of  Victor  Hugo  .       .  .184 

"La  Femme."    After  the  French  of  M.  Michelet      .  193 

Mary  M^Gillup.    After  Belle  Boyd.    With  an  Intro- 
duction by  G.  A.  S— la.    '   200 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

By  CH  S  R  DE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Dodds  were  dead.  For  twenty  year  they 
had  slept  under  the  green  graves  of  Kittery  church- 
yard. The  townfolk  still  spoke  of  them  kindly. 
The  keeper  of  the  alehouse,  where  David  had 
smoked  his'  pipe,  regretted  him  regularly,  and 
Mistress  Kitty,  Mrs.  Dodd's  maid,  whose  trim 
figure  always  looked  well  in  her  mistress's  gowns, 
was  inconsolable.  The  Hardins  were  in  America. 
Eaby  was  aristocratically  gouty ;  Mrs.  Eaby,  re- 
ligious.   Briefly,  then,  we  have  disposed  of — • 

1.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dodd  (dead). 

2.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardin  (translated). 

3.  Eaby,  haron  et  femme,  (Yet  I  don't  know 
about  the  former ;  he  came  of  a  long-lived  family, 
and  the  gout  is  an  uncertain  disease.) 

1  A 


2  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

We  have  active  at  the  present  writing  {place 
aux  dames)  — 

1.  Lady  Caroline  Coventry,  niece  of  Sir  Fred- 
erick. 

2.  Faraday  Huxley  Little,  son  of  Henry  and 
Grace  Little,  deceased. 

Sequihir  to  the  above,  A  Hero  and  Heroine. 


CHAPTER  II. 

On  the  death  of  his  parents,  Faraday  Little  was 
taken  to  Eaby  Hall.  In  accepting  his  guardian- 
ship, Mr.  Eaby  struggled  stoutly  against  two 
prejudices :  Faraday  was  plain-looking  and  scep- 
tical. 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  sweetheart," 
pleaded  Jael,  interceding  for  the  orphan  with  arms 
that  were  still  beautiful.  "  Dear  knows,  it  is  not 
his  fault  if  he  does  not  look  like  —  his  father,'* 
she  added  with  a  great  gulp.  Jael  was  a  woman, 
and  vindicated  her  womanhood  by  never  entirely 
forgiving  a  former  rival. 

"  It not  that  alone,  madam,"  screamed  Eaby, 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


3 


"  but,  d — m  it,  the  little  rascal 's  a  scientist,  —  an 
atheist,  a  radical,  a  scoffer !  Disbelieves  in  the 
Bible,  ma'am;  is  full  of  this  Darwinian  stuff 
about  natural  selection  and  descent.  Descent,  for- 
sooth !  In  my  day,  madam,  gentlemen  were  con- 
tent to  trace  their  ancestors  back  to  gentlemen, 
and  not  to  —  monkeys  ! " 

"  Dear  heart,  the  boy  is  clever,"  urged  Jael. 

"  Clever  ! "  roared  Eaby ;  "  what  does  a  gentle- 
man want  with  cleverness  ?  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

Young  Little  was  clever.  At  seven  he  had 
constructed  a  telescope;  at  nine,  a  flying-ma- 
chine.   At  ten  he  saved  a  valuable  life. 

Norwood  Park  was  the  adjacent  estate,  —  a 
lordly  domain  dotted  with  red  deer  and  black 
trunks,  but  scrupulously  kept  with  gravelled  roads 
as  hard  and  blue  as  steel.  There  Little  was  stroll- 
ing one  summer  morning,  meditating  on  a  new 
top  with  concealed  springs.  At  a  little  distance 
before  him  he  saw  the  flutter  of  lace  and  ribbons. 


4  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

A  young  lady,  a  very  young  lady, — say  of  seven 
summers, —  tricked  out  in  the  crying  abominations 
of  the  present  fashion,  stood  beside  a  low  bush. 
Her  nursery-maid  was  not  present,  possibly  owing 
to  the  fact  that  John  the  footman  was  also  absent. 

Suddenly  Little  came  towards  her.  Excuse 
me,  but  do  you  know  what  those  berries  are  ? " 
He  was  pointing  to  the  low  bush  filled  with  dark 
clusters  of  shining  —  suspiciously  shining  —  fruit. 

"  Certainly  ;  they  are  blueberries." 

''Pardon  me;  you  are  mistaken.  They  belong 
to  quite  another  family." 

Miss  Impudence  drew  herself  up  to  her  full 
height  (exactly  three  feet  nine  and  a  half  inches), 
and,  curling  an  eight  of  an  inch  of  scarlet  lip,  said, 
scornfully,     Your  family,  perhaps." 

Faraday  Little  smiled  in  the  superiority  of  boy- 
hood over  girlhood. 

"I  allude  to  the  classification.  That  plant  is 
the  belladonna,  or  deadly  nightshade.  Its  alka- 
loid is  a  narcotic  poison." 

Sauciness  turned  pale.  ''I  —  have — just  — 
eaten  —  some  !  "  And  began  to  whimper.  "  0 
dear,  what  shall  I  do  ? "  Then  did  it,  i.  e.  wrung 
her  small  fingers  and  cried. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


5 


"  Pardon  me  one  moment."  Little  passed  his  • 
arm  around  her  neck,  and  with  his  thumb  opened 
widely  the  patrician- veined  lids  of  her  sweet  blue 
eyes.  "  Thank  Heaven,  there  is  yet  no  dilation  of 
the  pupil ;  it  is  not  too  late ! "  He  cast  a  rapid 
glance  around.  The  nozzle  and  about  three  feet 
of  garden  hose  lay  near  him. 
Open  your  mouth,  quick  !  " 

It  was  a  pretty,  kissable  mouth.  But  young 
Little  meant  business.  He  put  the  nozzle  down 
her  pink  throat  as  far  as  it  would  go. 

"^ow,  don't  move." 

He  wrapped  his  handkerchief  around  a  hoop- 
stick.  Then  he  inserted  both  in  the  other  end  of 
the  stiff  hose.  It  fitted  snugly.  He  shoved  it  in 
and  then  drew  it  back. 

Nature  abhors  a  vacuum.  The  young  patrician 
was  as  amenable  to  this  law  as  the  child  of  the 
lowest  peasant. 

She  succumbed.  It  was  all  over  in  a  minute. 
Then  she  burst  into  a  small  fury. 

"  You  nasty,  bad  —  ugly  boy." 

Young  Little  winced,  but  smiled. 

"Stimulants,"  he  whispered  to  the  frightened 


6  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

nursery-maid  who  approaclied ;  "  good  evening." 
He  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  breacli  between  young  Little  and  Mr.  Eaby 
was  slowly  widening.  Little  found  objectionable 
features  in  the  Hall.  "  This  black  oak  ceiling  and 
wainscoating  is  not  as  healthful  as  plaster;  be- 
sides, it  absorbs  the  light.  The  bedroom  ceiling 
is  too  low  ;  the  Elizabethan  architects  knew  noth- 
ing of  ventilation.  The  color  of  that  oak  panel- 
ling which  you  admire  is  due  to  an  excess  of  car- 
bon and  the  exuvia  from  the  pores  of  your 
skin  —  " 

"  Leave  the  house/'  bellowed  Eaby,  "  before  the 
roof  falls  on  your  sacrilegious  head  !  " 

As  Little  left  the  house.  Lady  Caroline  and  a 
handsome  boy  of  about  Little's  age  entered.  Lady 
Caroline  recoiled,  and  then  —  blushed.  Little 
glared;  he  instinctively  felt  the  presence  of  a 
rival. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


7 


CHAPTER  V. 

Little  worked  hard.  He  studied  night  and 
day.  In  five  years  he  became  a  lecturer,  then 
a  professor. 

He  soared  as  high  as  the  clouds,  he  dipped  as 
low  as  the  cellars  of  the  London  poor.  He  ana- 
lyzed the  London  fog,  and  found  it  two  parts 
smoke,  one  disease,  one  unmentionable  abomi- 
nations. He  published  a  pamphlet,  which  was 
violently  attacked.  Then  he  knew  he  had  done 
something. 

But  he  had  not  forgotten  Caroline.  He  was 
walking  one  day  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  and  he 
came  upon  a  pretty  picture,  —  flesh  and  blood  too. 

Lady  Caroline  feeding  buns  to  the  bears  !  An 
exquisite  thrill  passed  through  his  veins.  She 
turned  her  sweet  face  and  their  eyes  met.  They 
recollected  their  first  meeting  seven  years  before, 
but  it  was  his  turn  to  be  shy  and  timid.  Won- 
derful power  of  age  and  sex !  She  met  him  with 
perfect  self-possession. 


8  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

"  Well  meant,  but  indigestible  I  fear "  (he  al- 
luded to  the  buns). 

"  A  clever  person  like  yourself  can  easily  cor- 
rect that "  (she,  the  slyboots,  was  thinking  of 
something  else). 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  chatting  gayly. 
Little  eagerly  descanted  upon  the  different  ani- 
mals ;  she  listened  with  delicious  interest.  An 
hour  glided  delightfully  away. 

After  this  sunshine,  clouds. 

To  them  suddenly  entered  Mr.  Eaby  and  a 
handsome  young  man.  The  gentlemen  bowed 
stiffly  and  looked  vicious,  —  as  they  felt.  The 
lady  of  this  quartette  smiled  amiably,  as  she  did 
not  feel. 

"  Looking  at  your  ancestors,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Eaby,  pointing  to  the  monkeys  ;  "  we  will  not  dis- 
turb you.    Come."    And  he  led  Caroline  away. 

Little  was  heart-sick.  He  dared  not  follow  them. 
But  an  hour  later  he  saw  something  which  filled 
his  heart  with  bliss  unspeakable. 

Lady  Caroline,  with  a  divine  smile  on  her  face, 
feeding  the  monkeys ! 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.  9 


CHAPTER  YI. 

Encouraged  by  love,  Little  worked  hard  upon 
his  new  flying-machine.  His  labors  were  lightened 
by  talking  of  the  beloved  one  with  her  French 
maid  Therese,  whom  he  had  discreetly  bribed. 
Mademoiselle  Therese  was  venal,  like  all  her  class, 
but  in  this  instance  I  fear  she  was  not  bribed 
by  British  gold.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the 
British  mind,  it  was  British  genius,  British  elo- 
quence, British  thought,  that  brought  her  to  the 
feet  of  this  young  savan. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  one  day,  inter- 
rupting her  maid  in  a  glowing  eulogium  upon  the 
skill  of  " M.  Leetell,''  —  ''I  believe  you  are  in  love 
with  this  Professor.''  A  quick  flush  crossed  the 
olive  cheek  of  Therese,  which  Lady  Caroline  after- 
ward remembered. 

The  eventful  day  of  trial  came.  The  public 
were  gathered,  impatient  and  scornful  as  the  pig- 
headed public  are  apt  to  be.  In  the  open  area  a 
long  cylindrical  balloon,  in  shape  like  a  Bologna 
1* 


10  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

sausage,  swayed  above  the  machine,  from  which, 
like  some  enormous  bird  caught  in  a  net,  it  tried 
to  free  itseK.  A  heavy  rope  held  it  fast  to  the 
ground. 

Little  was  waiting  for  the  ballast,  when  his  eye 
caught  Lady  Caroline's  among  the  spectators.  The 
glance  was  appealing.  In  a  moment  he  was  at 
her  side. 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  get  into  the  machine," 
said  the  arch-hypocrite,  demurely. 

"  Are  you  engaged  to  marry  young  Eaby,"  said 
Little,  bluntly. 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said  with  a  courtesy ;  "  do 
I  take  this  as  a  refusal  ?  " 

Little  was  a  gentleman.  He  lifted  her  and  her 
lapdog  into  the  car. 

"  How  nice !  it  won't  go  off  ?  '* 

"  No,  the  rope  is  strong,  and  the  ballast  is  not 
yet  in." 

A  report  like  a  pistol,  a  cry  from  the  spectators, 
a  thousand  hands  stretched  to  grasp  the  parted 
rope,  and  the  balloon  darted  upward. 

Only  one  hand  of  that  thousand  caught  the 
rope,  —  Little's  !    But  in  the  same  instant  the 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


11 


horror-stricken  spectators  saw  him  whirled  from 
his  feet  and  borne  upward,  still  clinging  to  the 
rope,  into  space. 


CHAPTER  VII.'* 

Lady  Caroline  fainted.  The  cold  watery  nose 
of  her  dog  on  her  cheek  brought  her  to  herself. 
She  dared  not  look  over  the  edge  of  the  car ;  she 
dared  not  look  up  to  the  bellying  monster  above 
her,  bearing  her  to  death.  She  threw  herself  on 
the  bottom  of  the  car,  and  embraced  the  only 
living  thing  spared  her,  —  the  poodle.  Then  she 
cried.  Then  a  clear  voice  came  apparently  out  of 
the  circumambient  air  :  — 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  look  at  the  barometer  ? " 

She  put  her  head  over  the  car.  Little  was 
hanging  at  the  end  of  a  long  rope.  She  put  her 
head  back  again. 

In  another  moment  he  saw  her  perplexed,  blush- 
ing face  over  the  edge, — blissful  sight. 

*  The  right  of  dramatization  of  this  and  succeeding  chapters 
is  reserved  by  the  writer. 


12  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


"0,  please  don't  think  of  coming  up!  Stay 
there,  do ! " 

Little  stayed.  Of  course  she  could  make  noth- 
ing out  of  the  barometer,  and  said  sOi  Little 
smiled. 

"  Will  you  kindly  send  it  down  to  me  ? " 

But  she  had  no  string  or  cord.  Finally  she 
said,  "  Wait  a  moment." 

Little  waited.  This  time  her  face  did  not 
appear.  The  barometer  came  slowly  down  at 
the  end  of — a  stay-lace. 

The  barometer  showed  a  frightful  elevation. 
Little  looked  up  at  the  valve  and  said  nothing. 
Presently  he  heard  a  sigh.  Then  a  sob.  Then, 
rather  sharply,  — 

"  Why  don't  you  do  something  ? " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Little  came  up  the  rope  hand  over  hand.  Lady 
Caroline  crouched  in  the  farther  side  of  the  car. 
Pido,  the  poodle,  whined.  "  Poor  thing,"  said  Lady 
Caroline,  "  it 's  hungry." 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.  13 


"  Do  you  wish  to  save  the  dog  ? "  said  Little. 
"Yes." 

"  Give  me  your  parasol." 

She  handed  Little  a  good-sized  affair  of  lace 
and  silk  and  whalebone.  (None  of  your  "sun- 
shades.")   Little  examined  its  ribs  carefully. 

"  Give  me  the  dog." 

Lady  Caroline  hurriedly  slipped  a  note  under 
the  dog's  collar,  and  passed  over  her  pet. 

Little  tied  the  dog  to  the  handle  of  the  parasol 
and  launched  them  both  into  space.  The  next 
moment  they  were  slowly,  but  tranquilly,  sailing 
to  the  earth. 

"  A  parasol  and  a  parachute  are  distinct,  but  not 
different.  Be  not '  alarmed,  he  will  get  his  dinner 
at  some  farm-house." 

Where  are  we  now  ?  " 

"That  opaque  spot  you  see  is  London  fog. 
Those  twin  clouds  are  North  and  South  Amer- 
ica. Jerusalem  and  Madagascar  are  those  specks 
to  the  right. 

Lady  Caroline  moved  nearer  ;  she  was  becoming 
interested.  Then  she  recalled  herself  and  said 
freezingly,  "  How  are  we  going  to  descend  ? " 


14  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


"  By  opening  the  valve." 

Why  don't  you  open  it  then  ?  " 
"  Because  the  valve-string  is  broken  ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Lady  Caroline  fainted.  When  she  revived  it 
was  dark.  They  were  apparently  cleaving  their 
WSij  through  a  solid  block  of  black  marble.  She 
moaned  and  shuddered. 

"I  wish  we  had  a  light." 

"  I  have  no  lucifers/'  said  Little.  I  observe, 
however,  that  you  wear  a  necklace  of  amber. 
Amber  under  certain  conditions  becomes  highly 
electrical.    Permit  me." 

He  took  the  amber  necklace  and  rubbed  it 
briskly.  Then  he  asked  her  to  present  her 
knuckle  to  the  gem.  A  bright  spark  was  the 
result.  This  was  repeated  for  some  hours.  The 
light  was  not  brilliant,  but  it  was  enough  for  the 
purposes  of  propriety,  and  satisfied  the  delicately 
minded  girl. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.  15 


Suddenly  there  was  a  tearing,  hissing  noise  and 
a  smell  of  gas.  Little  looked  up  and  turned  pale. 
The  balloon,  at  what  I  shall  call  the  pointed  end 
of  the  Bologna  sausage,  was  evidently  bursting 
from  increased  pressure.  The  gas  was  escaping, 
and  already  they  were  beginning  to  descend. 
Little  was  resigned  but  firm. 

"  If  the  silk  gives  way,  then  we  are  lost.  Un- 
fortunately I  have  no  rope  nor  material  for  bind- 
ing it.'' 

The  woman's  instinct  had  arrived  at  the  same 
conclusion  sooner  than  the  man's  reason.  But  she 
was  hesitating  over  a  detail. 

"  Will  you  go  down  the  rope  for  a  moment  ? "  she 
said,  with  a  sweet  smile. 

Little  went  down.  Presently  she  called  to  him. 
She  held  something  in  her  hand,  —  a  wonderful 
invention  of  the  seventeenth  century,  improved 
and  perfected  in  this :  a  pyramid  of  sixteen  cir- 
cular hoops  of  light  yet  strong  steel,  attached  to 
each  other  by  cloth  bands. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Little  seized  them,  climbed 
to  the  balloon,  and  fitted  the  elastic  hoops  over  its 
conical  end.    Then  he  returned  to  the  car. 


16  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


We  are  saved." 
Lady  Caroline,  blushing,  gathered  her  slim  but 
antique  drapery  against  the  other  end  of  the  car. 


CHAPTER  X. 

They  were  slowly  descending.  Presently  Lady 
Caroline  distinguished  the  outlines  of  Eaby  HalL 
"  I  think  I  will  get  out  here,"  she  said. 

Little  anchored  the  balloon  and  prepared  to  fol- 
low her. 

"  Not  so,  my  friend,"  she  said,  with  an  arch 
smile.  We  must  not  be  seen  together.  People 
might  talk.  Farewell." 

Little  sprang  again  into  the*  balloon  and  sped 
away  to  America.  He  came  down  in  California, 
oddly  enough  in  front  of  Hardin's  door,  at  Dutch 
riat.  Hardin  was  just  examining  a  specimen  of 
ore. 

"You  are  a  scientist;  can  you  tell  me  if  that 
is  worth  anything  ? "  he  said,  handing  it  to  Lit- 
tle. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.  17 


Little  held  it  to  the  light.  "  It  contains  ninety 
per  cent  of  silver." 

Hardin  embraced  him.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you,  and  why  are  you  here  ?  " 

Little  told  his  story.  Hardin  asked  to  see  the 
rope.    Then  he  examined  it  carefully. 

"  Ah,  this  was  cut,  not  broken  ! 

"  With  a  knife  ?  "  asked  Little. 

"  No.  Observe  both  sides  are  equally  indented. 
It  was  done  with  a  scissors  !  " 

"  Just  Heaven ! "  gasped  Little.    "  Ther^se  ! " 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

Little  returned  to  London.  Passing  through 
London  one  day  he  met  a  dog-fancier.  "  Buy  a 
nice  poodle,  sir  ? " 

Something  in  the  animal  attracted  his  atten- 
tion.     Fido  ! "  he  gasped. 

The  dog  yelped. 

Little  bought  him.  Gn  taking  off  his  collar  a 
piece  of  paper  rustled  to  the  floor.  He  knew  the 
handwriting  and  kissed  it.    It  ran :  — 


18  HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 


"To  THE  Hon.  Augustus  Eaby: —  I  cannot 
marry  you.  If  I  marry  any  one  (sly  puss)  "  it 
will  be  the  man  who  has  twice  saved  my  life,  — 
Professor  Little. 

"  Caroline  Coventry." 


LOTHAW; 

OR, 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  YOUNG-  GENTLEMAN 
IN  SEARCH  OF  A  RELIGION. 

By  MR.  BENJAMINS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  EEMEMBER  him  a  little  boy,"  said  the  Duch- 
ess. "  Hi3  mother  was  a  dear  friend  of  mine ;  you 
know  she  was  one  of  my  bridesmaids." 

"  And  you  have  never  seen  him  since,  mamma  ? " 
asked  the  oldest  married  daughter,  who  did  not 
look  a  day  older  than  her  mother. 

N'ever ;  he  was  an  orphan  shortly  after.  I 
have  often  reproached  myself,  but  it  is  so  difficult 
to  see  boys." 

This  simple  yet  first-class  conversation  existed 
in  the  morning-room  of  Plusham,  where  the  mis- 
tress of  the  palatial  mansion  sat  involved  in  the 
sacred  privacy  of  a  circle  of  her  married  daugh-* 
ters.    One  dexterously  applied  golden  knitting- 


20 


LOTHAW. 


needles  to  the  fabrication  of  a  purse  of  floss  silk 
of  the  rarest  texture,  which  none  who  knew  the 
almost  fabulous  wealth  of  the  Duke  would  be- 
lieve was  ever  destined  to  hold  in  its  silken 
meshes  a  less  sum  than  £  1,000,000 ;  another 
adorned  a  slipper  exclusively  with  seed  pearls ;  a 
third  emblazoned  a  page  with  rare  pigments  and 
the  finest  quality  of  gold  leaf.  Beautiful  forms 
leaned  over  frames  glowing  with  embroidery,  and 
beautiful  frames  leaned  over  forms  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl.  Others,  more  remote,  occasion- 
ally burst  into  melody  as  they  tried  the  passages 
of  a  new  and  exclusive  air  given  to  them  in  MS. 
by  some  titled  and  devoted  friend,  for  the  private 
use  of  the  aristocracy  alone,  and  absolutely  pro- 
hibited for  publication. 

The  Duchess,  herself  the  superlative  of  beauty, 
wealth,  and  position,  was  married  to  the  highest 
noble  in  the  Three  Kingdoms.  Those  who  talked 
about  such  matters  said  that  their  progeny  were 
exactly  like  their  parents,  —  a  peculiarity  of  the 
aristocratic  and  wealthy.  They  all  looked  like 
brothers  and  sisters,  except  their  parents,  who, 
such  was  their  purity  of  blood,  the  perfection  of 


LOTHAW. 


21 


tlieir  manners,  and  the  opulence  of  their  condition, 
might  have  been  taken  for  their  own  children's 
elder  son  and  daughter.  The  daughters,  with  one 
exception,  were  all  married  to  the  highest  nobles 
in  the  land.  That  exception  was  the  Lady  Cori- 
ander, who,  there  being  no  vacancy  above  a 
marquis  and  a  rental  of  £  1,000,000,  waited. 
Gathered  around  the  refined  and  sacred  circle 
of  their  breakfast-table,  with  their  glittering  coro- 
nets, which,  in  filial  respect  to  their  father's  Tory 
instincts  and  their  mother's  Eitualistic  tastes, 
they  always  wore  on  their  regal  brows,  the  ef- 
fect was  dazzling  as  it  was  refined.  It  was  this 
peculiarity  and  their  strong  family  resemblance 
which  led  their  brother-in-law,  the  good-humored 
St.  Addlegourd,  to  say  that,  "  Ton  my  soul,  yon 
know,  the  whole  precious  mob  looked  like  a 
ghastly  pack  of  court  cards,  you  know."  St. 
Addlegourd  was  a  radical.  Having  a  rent-roll  of 
£  15,000,000,  and  belonging  to  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  Britain,  he  could  afford  to  be. 

"  Mamma,  I  've  just  dropped  a  pearl,"  said  the 
Lady  Coriander,  bending  over  the  Persian  hearth- 
rug. 


22 


LOTHAW. 


''From  your  lips,  sweet  friend,"  said  Lothaw, 
who  came  of  age  and  entered  the  room  at  the 
same  moment. 

"  No,  from  my  work.  It  was  a  very  valuable 
pearl,  mamma ;  papa  gave  Isaacs  and  Sons 
£50,000  for  the  two." 

Ah,  indeed,"  said  the  Duchess,  languidly 
rising ;     let  us  go  to  luncheon." 

"  But  your  Grace,"  interposed  Lothaw,  who 
was  still  quite  young,  and  had  dropped  on  all- 
fours  on  the  carpet  in  search  of  the  missing 
gem,    consider  the  value  —  " 

"Dear  friend,"  interposed  the  Duchess,  with 
infinite  tact,  gently  lifting  him  by  the  tails  of 
his  dress-coat,  '^I  am  waiting  for  your  arm." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Lothaw  was  immensely  rich.  The  possessor 
of  seventeen  castles,  fifteen  villas,  nine  shooting- 
boxes,  and  seven  town  houses,  he  had  other  estates 
of  which  he  had  not  even  heard. 

Everybody  at  Plusham  played  croquet,  and 


LOTHAW. 


23 


none  badly.  Next  to  their  purity  of  blood  and 
great  wealth,  the  family  were  famous  for  this 
accomplishment.  Yet  Lothaw  soon  tired  of  the 
game,  and  after  seriously  damaging  his  aris- 
tocratically large  foot  in  an  attempt  to  tight 
croquet"  the  Lady  Aniseed's  ball,  he  limped 
away  to  join  the  Duchess. 

I 'm  going  to  the  hennery,"  she  said. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  I  dearly  love  fowls  — 
broiled,"  he  added,  thoughtfully. 

"The  Duke  gave  Lady  Montairy  some  large 
Cochins  the  other  day,"  continued  the  Duchess, 
changing  the  subject  with  delicate  tact. 

**  Lady  Montairy, 
Quite  contrairy, 
How  do  your  Cochins  grow  ?  ** 

sang  Lothaw  gayly. 

The  Duchess  looked  shocked.  After  a  pro- 
longed silence,  Lothaw  abruptly  and  gravely 
said :  — 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  when  I  come  into  my 
property  I  should  like  to  build  some  improved 
dwellings  for  the  poor,  and  marry  Lady  Cori- 
ander." 


24 


LOTHAW. 


"You  amaze  me,  dear  friend,  and  yet  both 
your  aspirations  are  noble  and  eminently  prop- 
er," said  the  Duchess ;  "  Coriander  is  but  a 
child,  —  and  yet,"  she  added,  looking  gracious- 
ly upon  her  companion,  "  for  the  matter  of  that, 
so  are  you." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Mk.  Putney  Giles's  was  LothaVs  first  grand 
dinner-party.  Yet,  by  carefully  watching  the 
others,  he  managed  to  acquit  himself  creditably, 
and  avoided  drinking  out  of  the  finger-bowl  by 
first  secretly  testing  its  contents  with  a  spoon. 
The  conversation  was  peculiar  and  singularly 
interesting. 

"Then  you  think  that  monogamy  is  simply  a 
question  of  the  thermometer  ? "  said  Mrs.  Putney 
Giles  to  her  companion. 

"I  certainly  think  that  polygamy  should  be 
limited  by  isothermal  lines,"  replied  Lothaw. 

"I  should  say  it  was  a  matter  of  latitude," 
observed  a  loud  talkative  man  opposite.  He  was 
an  Oxford  Professor  with  a  taste  for  satire,  and 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


LOTHAW. 


LOTHAW. 


25 


had  made  himself  very  obnoxious  to  the  company, 
during  dinner,  by  speaking  disparagingly  of  a 
former  well-known  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
—  a  great  statesman  and  brilliant  novelist, — 
whom  he  feared  and  hated. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sensation  in  the  room; 
among  the  females  it  absolutely  amounted  to  a 
nervous  thrill.  His  Eminence,  the  Cardinal,  was 
announced.  He  entered  with  great  suavity  of 
manner,  and,  after  shaking  hands  with  everybody, 
asking  after  their  relatives,  and  chucking  the  more 
delicate  females  under  the  chin  with  a  high-bred 
grace  peculiar  to  his  profession,  he  sat  down,  say- 
ing, "And  how  do  we  all  find  ourselves  this 
evening,  my  dears  ? "  in  several  different  languages, 
which  he  spoke  fluently. 

Lothaw's  heart  was  touched.  His  deeply  relig- 
ious convictions  were  impressed.  He  instantly 
went  up  to  this  gifted  being,  confessed,  and  re- 
ceived absolution.  "  To-morrow,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  I  will  partake  of  the  communion,  and  endow 
the  Church  with  my  vast  estates.  Eor  the  present 
I  '11  let  the  improved  cottages  go." 

2 


26 


LOTHAW. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  Lothaw  turned  to  leave  the  Cardinal,  he 
was  struck  by  a  beautiful  face.  It  was  that  of  a 
matron,  slim  but  shapely  as  an  Ionic  column. 
Her  face  was  Grecian,  with  Corinthian  temples; 
Hellenic  eyes  that  looked  from  jutting  eyebrows, 
like  dormer-windows  in  an  Attic  forehead,  com- 
pleted her  perfect  Athenian  outline.  She  wore  a 
black  frock-coat  tightly  buttoned  over  her  bloomer 
trousers,  and  a  standing  collar. 

Your  Lordship  is  struck  by  that  face,"  said  a 
social  parasite. 

I  am ;  who  is  she  ? " 

"  Her  name  is  Mary  Ann.  She  is  married  to  an 
American,  and  has  lately  invented  a  new  religion." 

Ah ! "  said  Lothaw  eagerly,  with  difficulty  re- 
straining himself  from  rushing  toward  her. 

"  Yes  ;  shall  I  introduce  you  ? " 

Lothaw  thought  of  Lady  Coriander's  High 
Church  proclivities,  of  the  Cardinal,  and  hesitated : 
"  No,  I  thank  you,  not  now." 


LOTHAW. 


27 


CHAPTER  V. 

LoTHAW  was  maturing.  He  had  attended  two 
woman's  rights  conventions,  three  Fenian  meet- 
ings, had  dined  at  White's,  and  had  danced  vis-a- 
vis to  a  prince  of  the  blood,  and  eaten  off  of  gold 
plates  at  Crecy  House. 

His  stables  were  near  Oxford,  and  occupied 
more  ground  than  the  University.  He  was  driv- 
ing over  there  one  day,  when  he  perceived  some 
rustics  and  menials  endeavoring  to  stop  a  pair 
of  runaway  horses  attached  to  a  carriage  in  which 
a  lady  and  gentleman  were  seated.  Calmly  await- 
ing the  termination  of  the  accident,  with  high- 
bred courtesy  Lothaw  forbore  to  interfere  until 
the  carriage  was  overturned,  the  occupants  thrown 
out,  and  the  runaways  secured  by  the  servants, 
when  he  advanced  and  offered  the  lady  the  ex- 
clusive use  of  his  Oxford  stables. 

Turning  upon  him  a  face  whose  perfect  Hellenic 
details  he  remembered,  she  slowly  dragged  a  gen- 
tleman from  under  the  wheels  into  the  light  and 


28 


LOTHAW. 


presented  him  with  ladylike  dignity  as  her  hus- 
band, Major-General  Camperdown,  an  American. 

"  Ah/'  said  Lothaw,  carelessly,  "  I  believe  I  have 
some  land  there.  If  I  mistake  not,  my  agent,  Mr. 
Putney  Giles,  lately  purchased  the  State  of — Illi- 
nois —  I  think  you  call  it.'* 

"  Exactly.  As  a  former  resident  of  the  city  of 
Chicago,  let  me  introduce  myself  as  your  tenant.'* 

Lothaw  bowed  graciously  to  the  gentleman, 
who,  except  that  he  seemed  better  dressed  than 
most  Englishmen,  showed  no  other  signs  of  in- 
feriority and  plebeian  extraction. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  Lothaw  to  the  lady 
as  she  leaned  on  his  arm,  while  they  visited  his 
stables,  the  University,  and  other  places  of  in- 
terest in  Oxford.  "Pray  tell  me,  what  is  this 
new  religion  of  yours  ? " 

"  It  is  Woman  Suffrage,  Free  Love,  Mutual  Af- 
finity, and  Communism.    Embrace  it  and  me." 

Lothaw  did  not  know  exactly  w^hat  to  do.  She 
however  soothed  and  sustained  his  agitated  frame 
and  sealed  with  an  embrace  his  speechless  form. 
The  General  approached  and  coughed  slightly 
with  gentlemanly  tact. 


LOTHAW. 


29 


"  My  husband  will  be  too  happy  to  talk  with 
you  further  on  this  subject,"  she  said  with  quiet 
dignity,  as  she  regained  the  General's  side. 
"Come  with  us  to  Oneida.  Brook  Farm  is  a 
thing  of  the  past." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

As  Lothaw  drove  toward  his  country-seat,  "  The 
Mural  Enclosure,"  he  observed  a  crowd,  apparently 
of  the  working  class,  gathered  around  a  singular- 
looking  man  in  the  picturesque  garb  of  an  Ethio- 
pian serenader.  "  What  does  he  say  ?  "  inquired 
Lothaw  of  his  driver. 

The  man  touched  his  hat  respectfully  and  said, 
"  My  Mary  Ann." 

" '  My  Mary  Ann  ! ' "  Lothaw's  heart  beat  rap- 
idly. Who  was  this  mysterious  foreigner  ?  He 
had  heard  from  Lady  Coriander  of  a  certain 
Popish  plot ;  but  could  he  connect  Mr.  Camper- 
down  with  it  ? 

The  spectacle  of  two  hundred  men  at  arms  who 
advanced  to  meet  him  at  the  gates  of  The  Mural 


30 


LOTHAW. 


Enclosure  drove  all  else  from  the  still  youthful 
and  impressible  mind  of  Lothaw.  Immediately 
behind  them,  on  the  steps  of  the  baronial  halls, 
were  ranged  his  retainers,  led  by  the  chief  cook 
and  bottle-washer,  and  head  crumb-remover. 
On  either  side  were  two  companies  of  laundry- 
maids,  preceded  by  the  chief  crimper  and  fluter, 
supporting  a  long  Ancestral  Line,  on  which  de- 
pended the  family  linen,  and  under  which  the 
youthful  lord  of  the  manor  passed  into  the  halls 
of  his  fathers.  Twenty-four  scullions  carried  the 
massive  gold  and  silver  plate  of  the  family  on 
their  shoulders,  and  deposited  it  at  the  feet  of  their 
master.  The  spoons  were  then  solemnly  counted 
by  the  steward,  and  the  perfect  ceremony  ended. 

Lothaw  sighed.  He  sought  out  the  gorgeously 
gilded  TajV  or  sacred  mausoleum  erected  to  his 
grandfather  in  the  second  story  front  room,  and 
wept  over  the  man  he  did  not  know.  He  wan- 
dered alone  in  his  magnificent  park,  and  then, 
throwing  himself  on  a  grassy  bank,  pondered  on 
the  Great  First  Cause,  and  the  necessity  of  re- 
ligion. "  I  will  send  Mary  Ann  a  handsome  pres- 
ent," said  Lothaw,  thoughtfully. 


LOTHAW. 


31 


CHAPTER  yil. 

"  Each  of  these  pearls,  my  Lord,  is  worth  fifty 
thousand  guineas/'  said  Mr.  Amethyst,  the  fashion- 
able jeweler,  as  he  lightly  lifted  a  large  shovelful 
from  a  convenient  bin  behind  his  counter. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Lothaw,  carelessly,  "  I  should 
prefer  to  see  some  expensive  ones.'' 

"  Some  number  sixes,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Ame- 
thyst, taking  a  couple  from  the  apex  of  a  small 
pyramid  that  lay  piled  on  the  shelf.  "  These  are 
about  •the  size  of  the  Duchess  of  Billingsgate's, 
but  they  are  in  finer  condition.  The  fact  is,  her 
Grace  permits  her  two  children,  the  Marquis  of 
Smithfield  aad  the  Duke  of  St.  Giles,  —  two  sweet 
pretty  boys,  my  Lord,  —  to  use  them  as  marbles 
in  their  games.  Pearls  require  some  attention, 
and  I  go  down  there  regularly  twice  a  week  to 
clean  them.  Perhaps  your  Lordship  would  like 
some  ropes  of  pearls  ? " 

"About  half  a  cable's  length,"  said  Lothaw, 
shortly,  "  and  send  them  to  my  lodgings." 


32  LOTHAW. 

Mr.  Amethyst  became  thoughtful.  "  I  am 
afraid  I  have  not  the  exact  number  —  that  is  — 
excuse  me  one  moment.  I  will  run  over  to  the 
Tower  and  borrow  a  few  from  the  crown  jewels." 
And  before  Lothaw  could  prevent  him,  he  seized 
his  hat  and  left  Lothaw  alone. 

His  position  certainly  was  embarrassing.  He 
could  not  move  without  stepping  on  costly  gems 
which  had  rolled  from  the  counter ;  the  rarest 
diamonds  lay  scattered  on  the  shelves ;  untold 
fortunes  in  priceless  emeralds  lay  within  his 
grasp.  Although  such  was  the  aristocratic  purity 
of  his  blood  and  the  strength  of  his  rehgious 
convictions  that  he  probably  would  not  have 
pocketed  a  single  diamond,  still  he  could  not 
help  thinking  that  he  might  be  accused  of  taking 
some.  "  You  can  search  me,  if  you  like/'  he  said 
when  Mr.  Amethyst  returned ;  "  but  I  assure  you, 
upon  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  that  I  have  taken 
nothing." 

"  Enough,  my  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Amethyst,  with  a 
low  bow ;  "  we  never  search  the  aristocracy." 


LOTHAW. 


33 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

As  Lothaw  left  Mr.  Amethyst's,  he  ran  against 
General  Camperdown.  "  How  is  Mary  Ann  ? "  ho 
asked  hurriedly. 

"  I  regret  to  state  that  she  is  dying,"  said  the 
General,  with  a  grave  voice,  as  he  removed  his 
cigar  from  his  lips,  and  lifted  his  hat  to  Lothaw. 

"  Dying  !  "  said  Lothaw,  incredulously. 

"  Alas,  too  true  ! "  replied  the  General.  The 
engagements  of  a  long  lecturing  season,  exposure 
in  travelling  by  railway  during  the  winter,  and  the 
imperfect  nourishment  afforded  by  the  refresh- 
ments along  the  road,  have  told  on  her  delicate 
frame.  But  she  wants  to  see  you  before  she  dies. 
Here  is  the  key  of  my  lodging.  I  will  finish  my 
cigar  out  here." 

Lothaw  hardly  recognized  those  wasted  Hellenic 
outlines  as  he  entered  the  dimly  lighted  room  of 
the  dying  woman.  She  was  already  a  classic 
ruin,  —  as  wrecked  and  yet  as  perfect  as  the 
Parthenon.    He  grasped  her  hand  silently. 

2*  C 


34 


LOTHAW. 


"  Open-air  speaking  twice  a  week,  and  saleratus 
bread  in  the  rural  districts,  have  brought  me  to 
this,"  she  said  feebly ;  but  it  is  well.  The  cause 
progresses.    The  tyrant  man  succumbs.'' 

Lothaw  could  only  press  her  hand. 

"Promise  me  one  thing.  Don't  —  whatever 
you  do     become  a  Catholic." 

-Why?" 

"  The  Church  does  not  recognize  divorce.  And 
now  embrace  me.  I  would  prefer  at  this  supreme 
moment  to  introduce  myseK  to  the  next  world 
through  the  medium  of  the  best  society  in  this. 
Good  by.  When  I  am  dead,  be  good  enough  to 
inform  my  husband  of  the  fact." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Lothaw  spent  the  next  six  months  on  an  Aryan 
island,  in  an  Aryan  climate,  and  with  an  Aryan  race. 

"  This  is  an  Aryan  landscape,"  said  his  host, 
"  and  that  is  a  Mary  Ann  statue."  It  was,  in  fact, 
a  full-length  figure  in  marble  of  Mrs.  General 
Camperdown ! 


LOTHAW. 


35 


"If  you  please,  I  should  like  to  become  a 
Pagan,"  said  Lothaw,  one  day,  after  listening  to 
an  impassioned  discourse  on  Greek  art  from  the 
lips  of  his  host. 

But  that  night,  on  consulting  a  well-known 
spiritual  medium,  Lothaw  received  a  message 
from  the  late  Mrs.  General  Camperdown,  advising 
him  to  return  to  England.  Two  days  later  he 
presented  himself  at  Plusham. 

"  The  young  ladies  are  in  the  garden,"  said  the 
Duchess.  "Don't  you  want  to  go  and  pick  a 
rose  ? "  she  added  with  a  gracious  smile,  and  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  wink  that  was  consistent 
with  her  patrician  bearing  and  aquiline  nose. 

Lothaw  went  and  presently  returned  with  the 
blushing  Coriander  upon  his  arm. 

"Bless  you,  my  children,"  said  the  Duchess. 
Then,  turning  to  Lothaw,  she  said :  "  You  have 
simply  fulfilled  and  accepted  your  inevitable  des- 
tiny. It  was  morally  impossible  for  you  to  marry 
out  of  this  family.  For  the  present,  the  Church 
of  England  is  safe." 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 

A  MODERN   INDIAN  NOVEL. 
After  COOPER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  a  bright  October 
day.  The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  re- 
flected from  one  of  those  sylvan  lakes  peculiar 
to  the  Sierras  of  California.  On  the  right  the 
curling  smoke  of  an  Indian  village  rose  between 
the  columns  of  the  lofty  pines,  while  to  the  left 
the  log  cottage  of  Judge  Tompkins,  embowered 
in  buckeyes,  completed  the  enchanting  picture. 

AJthough  the  exterior  of  the  cottage  was  hum- 
ble and  unpretentious,  and  in  keeping  with  the 
wildness  of  the  landscape,  its  interior  gave  evi- 
dence of  the  cultivation  and  refinement  of  its 
inmates.  An  aquarium,  containing  goldfishes, 
stood  on  a  marble  centre-table  at  one  end  of 
the  apartment,  while  a  magnificent  grand  piano 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


37 


occupied  the  other.  The  floor  was  covered  with 
a  yielding  tapestry  carpet,  and  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  paintings  from  the  pencils  of  Yan 
Dyke,  Eubens,  Tintoretto,  Michael  Angelo,  and 
the  productions  of  the  more  modern  Turner, 
Kensett,  Church,  and  Bierstadt.  Although  Judge 
Tompkins  had  chosen  the  frontiers  of  civilization 
as  his  home,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  en- 
tirely forego  the  habits  and  tastes  of  his  former 
life.  He  was  seated  in  a  luxurious  ^rm-chair,  writ- 
ing at  a  mahogany  ecritoire,  while  his  daughter,  a 
lovely  young  girl  of  seventeen  summers,  plied  her 
crochet-needle  on  an  ottoman  beside  him.  A 
bright  fire  of  pine  logs  flickered  and  flamed  on 
the  ample  hearth. 

Genevra  Octavia  Tompkins  was  Judge  Tomp- 
kins's only  child.  Her  mother  had  long  since 
died  on  the  Plains.  Eeared  in  affluence,  no  pains 
had  been  spared  with  the  daughter's  education. 
She  was  a  graduate  of  one  of  the  principal  semi- 
naries, and  spoke  French  with  a  perfect  Benicia 
accent.  Peerlessly  beautiful,  she  was  dressed  in 
a  white  moire  antique  robe  trimmed  with  tulle. 
That  simple  rosebud,  with  which  most  heroines 


38 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


exclusively  decorate  their  hair,  was  all  she  wore 
in  her  raven  locks. 

The  Judge  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Genevra,  the  logs  which  compose  yonder  fire 
seem  to  have  been  incautiously  chosen.  The  sibila- 
tion  produced  by  the  sap,  which  exudes  copiously 
therefrom,  is  not  conducive  to  composition." 

"  True,  father,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  prefer- 
able to  the  constant  crepitation  which  is  apt  to 
attend  the  combustion  of  more  seasoned  ligneous 
fragments." 

The  Judge  looked  admiringly  at  the  intellectual 
features  of  the  graceful  girl,  and  half  forgot  the 
slight  annoyances  of  the  green  wood  in  the  musi- 
cal accents  of  his  daughter.  He  was  smoothing  her 
hair  tenderly,  when  the  shadow  of  a  tall  figure, 
which  suddenly  darkened  the  doorway,  caused  him 
to  look  up. 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  new-comer  to  de- 
tect at  once  the  form  and  features  of  the  haughty 
aborigine,  —  the  untaught  and  untrammelled  son 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


39 


of  the  forest.  Over  one  shoulder  a  blanket,  neg- 
ligently but  gracefully  thrown,  disclosed  a  bare  and 
powerful  breast,  decorated  with  a  quantity  of  three- 
cent  postage-stamps  which  he  had  despoiled  from 
aix  Overland  Mail  stage  a  few  weeks  previous.  A 
cast-off  beaver  of  Judge  Tompkins's,  adorned  by  a 
simple  feather,  covered  his  erect  head,  from  be- 
neath which  his  straight  locks  descended.  His 
right  hand  hung  lightly  by  his  side,  while  his 
left  was  engaged  in  holding  on  a  pair  of  panta- 
loons, which  the  lawless  gTace  and  freedom  of 
his  lower  limbs  evidently  could  not  brook. 

"Why,"  said  the  Indian,  in  a  low  sweet  tone, — 
"  why  does  the  Pale  Face  still  follow  the  track  of 
the  Eed  Man  ?  Why  does  he  pursue  him,  even 
as  O-hee-cliow,  the  wild-cat,  chases  Ka-ka,  the 
skunk  ?  Why  are  the  feet  of  Sorrel-top,  the 
white  chief,  among  the  acorns  of  Muck-a-Muchy 
the  mountain  forest  ?  Why,"  he  repeated,  quietly 
but  firmly  abstracting  a  silver  spoon  from  the 
table,  —  "  why  do  you  seek  to  drive  him  from  the 
wigA^'-ams  of  his  fathers  ?  His  brothers  are  already 
gone  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds.  Will  the 
Pale  Face  seek  him  there  ? "    And,  averting  his 


40 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


face  from  the  Judge,  he  hastily  slipped  a  silver 
cake-basket  beneath  his  blanket,  to  conceal  his 
emotion. 

Muck-a-Much  has  spoken,"  said  Genevra,  softly. 
Let  him  now  listen.  Are  the  acorns  of  the  moun- 
tain sweeter  than  the  esculent  and  nutritious  bean 
of  the  Pale  Face  miner  ?  Does  my  brother  prize 
the  edible  qualities  of  the  snail  above  that  of  the 
crisp  and  oleaginous  bacon?  Delicious  are  the 
grasshoppers  that  sport  on  the  hillside,  —  are  they 
better  than  the  dried  apples  of  the  Pale  Faces  ? 
Pleasant  is  the  gurgle  of  the  torrent,  Kish-Kish, 
but  is  it  better  than  the  cluck-cluck  of  old  Bour- 
bon from  the  old  stone  bottle?" 

"Ugh!"  said  the  Indian,  —  "ugh!  good.  The 
White  Eabbit  is  wise.  Her  words  fall  as  the 
snow  on  Tootoonolo,  and  the  rocky  heart  of  Muck- 
a-Muck  is  hidden.  What  says  my  brother  the 
Gray  Gopher  of  Dutch  Flat  ? " 

"  She  has  spaken,  Muck-a-Muck,"  said  the  Judge, 
gazing  fondly  on  his  daughter.  "  It  is  well.  Our 
treaty  is  concluded.  No,  thank  you,  —  you  need 
not  dance  the  Dance  of  Snow  Shoes,  or  the  Moc- 
casin Dance,  the  Dance  of  Green  Corn,  or  the 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


41 


Treaty  Dance.  I  would  be  alone.  A  strange  sad- 
ness overpowers  me.'' 

I  go,"  said  the  Indian.  "  Tell  your  great  chief 
in  Washington,  the  Sachem  Andy,  that  the  Eed 
Man  is  retiring  before  the  footsteps  of  the  adven- 
turous Pioneer.  Inform  him,  if  you  please,  that 
westward  the  star  of  empire  takes  its  way,  that 
the  chiefs  of  the  Pi-Ute  nation  are  for  Eecon- 
struction  to  a  man,  and  that  Klamath  will  poll  a 
heavy  Eepublican  vote  in  the  fall." 

And  folding  his  blanket  more  tightly  around 
him,  Muck-a-Muck  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Genevra  Tompkins  stood  at  the  door  of  the  log- 
cabin,  looking  after  the  retreating  Overland  Mail 
stage  which  conveyed  her  father  to  Virginia  City. 
"He  may  never  return  again,"  sighed  the  young 
girl  as  she  glanced  at  the  frightfully  rolling  vehicle 
and  wildly  careering  horses,  —  "  at  least,  with  un- 
broken bones.  Should  he  meet  with  an  accident ! 
I  mind  me  now  a  fearful  legend,  familiar  to  my 


42 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


childhood.  Can  it  be  that  the  drivers  on  this  line 
are  privately  instructed  to  despatch  all  passengers 
maimed  by  accident,  to  prevent  tedious  litigation  ? 
No,  no.    But  why  this  weight  upon  my  heart  ? " 

She  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  lightly 
passed  her  hand  over  the  keys.  Then,  in  a  clear 
mezzo-soprano  voice,  she  sang  the  first  verse  of  one 
of  the  most  popular  Irish  ballads :  — 

**0  Arrahf  ma  dheelish,  the  distant  dudheen 
Lies  soft  in  the  moonlight,  ma  houchal  vourneen : 
The  springing  gossoons  on  the  heather  are  still, 
And  the  cauheens  and  colleens  are  heard  on  the  hills.'* 

But  as  the  ravishing  notes  of  her  sweet  voice 
died  upon  the  air,  her  hands  sank  listlessly  to  her 
side.  Music  could  not  chase  away  the  mysterious 
shadow  from  her  heart.  Again  she  rose.  Putting 
on  a  white  crape  bonnet,  and  carefully  drawing  a 
pair  of  lemon-colored  gloves  over  her  taper  fingers, 
she  seized  her  parasol  and  plunged  into  the  depths 
of  the  pine  forest. 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Genevea  had  not  proceeded  many  miles  before 
a  weariness  seized  upon  her  fragile  limbs,  and  she 
would  fain  seat  herself  npon  the  trunk  of  a  pros- 
trate pine,  which  she  previously  dusted  with  her 
handkerchief.  The  sun  was  just  sinking  below 
the  horizon,  and  the  scene  was  one  of  gorgeous 
and  sylvan  beauty.  "  How  beautiful  is  Nature  ! " 
murmured  the  innocent  girl,  as,  reclining  grace- 
fully against  the  root  of  the  tree,  she  gathered  up 
her  skirts  and  tied  a  handkerchief  around  her 
throat.  But  a  low  growl  interrupted  her  medita- 
tion. Starting  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  met  a  sight 
which  froze  her  blood  with  terror. 

The  only  outlet  to  the  forest  was  the  narrow 
path,  barely  wide  enough  for  a  single  person, 
hemmed  in  by  trees  and  rocks,  which  she  had 
just  traversed.  Down  this  path,  in  Indian  file, 
came  a  monstrous  grizzly,  closely  followed  by  a 
California  lion,  a  wild-cat,  and  a  buffalo,  the  rear 
being  brought  up  by  a  wild  Spanish  bull.  The 


44 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


moTitlis  of  the  three  first  animals  were  distended 
with  frightful  significance ;  the  horns  of  the  last 
were  lowered  as  ominously.  As  Genevra  was  pre- 
paring to  faint,  she  heard  a  low  voice  behind  her. 

"Eternally  dog-gone  my  skin  ef  this  ain't  the 
puttiest  chance  yet." 

At  the  same  moment,  a  long,  shining  barrel 
dropped  lightly  from  behind  her,  and  rested  over 
her  shoulder. 

Genevra  shuddered. 

"  Dern  ye  —  don't  move ! " 

Genevra  became  motionless. 

The  crack  of  a  rifle  rang  through  the  woods. 
Three  frightful  yells  were  heard,  and  two  sullen 
roars.  Five  animals  bounded  into  the  air  and 
five  lifeless  bodies  lay  upon  the  plain.  The  well- 
aimed  bullet  had  done  its  work.  Entering  the 
open  throat  of  the  grizzly,  it  had  traversed  his 
body  only  to  enter  the  throat  of  the  Cahfornia 
lion,  and  in  like  manner  the  catamount,  until  it 
passed  through  into  the  respective  foreheads  of 
the  bull  and  the  buffalo,  and  finally  fell  flattened 
from  the  rocky  hillside. 

Genevra  turned  quickly.    "  My  preserver ! "  she 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


45 


shrieked,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  Natty  Bumpo, 
the  celebrated  Pike  Eanger  of  Donner  Lake. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  moon  rose  cheerfully  above  Donner  Lake. 
On  its  placid  bosom  a  dug-out  canoe  glided 
rapidly,  containing  Natty  Bumpo  and  Genevra 
Tompkins. 

Both  were  silent.  The  same  thought  possessed 
each,  and  perhaps  there  was  sweet  companionship 
even  in  the  unbroken  quiet.  Genevra  bit  the 
handle  of  her  parasol  and  blushed.  Natty  Bumpo 
took  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco.  At  length  Genevra 
said,  as  if  in  half-spoken  revery :  — 

The  soft  shining  of  the  moon  and  the  peaceful 
ripple  of  the  waves  seem  to  say  to  us  various 
things  of  an  instructive  and  moral  tendency." 

"  You  may  bet  yer  pile  on  that,  Miss,"  said  her 
companion,  gravely.  "  It 's  all  the  preachin'  and 
psalm-singin'  I  Ve  heern  since  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Noble  being ! "  said  Miss  Tompkins  to  herself, 
glancing  at  the  stately  Pike  as  he  bent  over  his 


46 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


paddle  to  conceal  his  emotion.  "Eeared  in  this 
wild  seclusion,  yet  he  has  become  penetrated  with 
visible  consciousness  of  a  Great  First  Cause/' 
Then,  collecting  herself,  she  said  aloud:  "Me- 
thinks  't  were  pleasant  to  glide  ever  thus  down 
the  stream  of  life,  hand  in  hand  with  the  one 
being  whom  the  soul  claims  as  its  affinity.  But 
what  am  I  saying?"  —  and  the  delicate-minded 
girl  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

A  long  silence  ensued,  which  was  at  length  bro- 
ken by  her  companion. 

"  Ef  you  mean  you  're  on  the  marry,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully,  "  I  ain't  in  no  wise  partikler !" 

"  My  husband,"  faltered  the  blushing  girl ;  and 
she  fell  into  his  arms. 

In  ten  minutes  more  the  loving  couple  had 
landed  at  Judge  Tompkins's. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  YEAR  has  passed  away.  Natty  Bumpo  was 
returning  from  Gold  Hill,  where  he  had  been  to 
purchase  provisions.   On  his  way  to  Donner  Lake, 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


47 


rumors  of  an  Indian  uprising  met  his  ears.  Dern 
their  pesky  skins,  ef  they  dare  to  touch  niy  Jenny/' 
he  muttered  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

It  was  dark  when  he  reached  the  borders  of  the 
lake.  Around  a  glittering  fire  he  dimly  discerned 
dusky  figures  dancing.  They  were  in  war  paint. 
Conspicuous  among  them  was  the  renowned  Muck- 
a-Muck.  But  wliy  did  the  fingers  of  Natty  Bumpo 
tighten  convulsively  around  his  rifle  ? 

The  chief  held  in  his  hand  long  tufts  of  raven 
hair.  The  heart  of  the  pioneer  sickened  as  he 
recognized  the  clustering  curls  of  Genevra.  In  a 
moment  his  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder,  and  with 
a  sharp  ping/'  Muck-a-Muck  leaped  into  the  air 
a  corpse.  To  knock  out  the  brains  of  the  remain- 
ing savages,  tear  the  tresses  from  the  stiffening 
hand  of  Muck-a-Muck,  and  dash  rapidly  forward 
to  the  cottage  of  Judge  Tompkins,  was  the  work 
of  a  moment. 

He  burst  open  the  door.  Why  did  he  stand 
transfixed  with  open  mouth  and  distended  eye- 
balls ?  Was  the  sight  too  horrible  to  be  borne  ? 
On  the  contrary,  before  him,  in  her  peerless 
beauty,  stood  Genevra  Tompkins,  leaning  on  her 
father's  arm. 


48 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


"  Ye  'r  not  scalped,  then  ! "  gasped  her  lover. 

"No.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I 
am  not ;  but  why  this  abruptness  ? "  responded 
Genevra. 

Bumpo  could  not  speak,  but  frantically  pro- 
duced the  silken  tresses.  Genevra  turned  her 
face  aside. 

"  Why,  that 's  her  waterfall ! "  said  the  Judge. 

Bumpo  sank  fainting  to  the  floor. 

The  famous  Pike  chieftain  never  recovered  from 
the  deceit,  and  refused  to  marry  Genevra,  who 
died,  twenty  years  afterwards,  of  a  broken  heart. 
Judge  Tompkins  lost  his  fortune  in  Wild  Cat. 
The  stage  passes  twice  a  week  the  deserted  cottage 
at  Donner  Lake.  Thus  was  the  death  of  Muck-a- 
Muck  avenged. 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 

By  ch— l— s  l— y— r. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MY  HOME. 

The  little  village  of  Pilwiddle  is  one  of  the 
smallest  and  obscurest  hamlets  on  the  Astern 
coast  of  Ireland.  On  a  lofty  crag,  overlooking  the 
hoarse  Atlantic,  stands  "Denville's  Shot  Tower'' 
— ^a  corruption  by  the  peasantry  of  D'Enville's 
Chdteau,  so  called  from  my  great-grandfather, 
Phelim  St.  Eemy  d'Enville,  who  assumed  the 
name  and  title  of  a  French  heiress  with  whom 
he  ran  away.  To  this  fact  my  familiar  knowledge 
and  excellent  pronunciation  of  the  French  lan- 
guage may  be  attributed,  as  well  as  many  of  the 
events  which  covered  my  after  life. 

The  Denvilles  were  always  passionately  fond  of 
field  sports.  At  the  age  of  four,  I  was  already  the 
boldest  rider  and  the  best  shot  in  the  country. 

3  D 


50 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


When  only  eight,  I  won  the  St.  Eemy  Cup  at  the 
Pilwiddle  races,  —  riding  my  favorite  bloodmare 
Hellfire.  As  I  approached  the  stand  amidst  the 
plaudits  of  the  assembled  multitude,  and  cries  of, 
Thrue  for  ye,  Masther  Terence,"  and  0,  but  it 's 
a  Dinville  ! "  there  was  a  slight  stir  among  the 
gentry,  who  surrounded  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and 
other  titled  personages  -whom  the  race  had  at- 
tracted thither.  "How  young  he  is,  —  a  mere 
child ;  and  yet  how  noble-looking,"  said  a  sweet 
low  v(Hce,  which  thrilled  my  soul, 

I  looked  up  and  met  the  full  liquid  orbs  of  the 
Hon.  Blanche  Fitzroy  Sackville,  youngest  daughter 
of  the  Lord  Lieutenant.  She  blushed  deeply.  I 
turned  pale  and  almost  fainted.  But  the  cold, 
sneering  tones  of  a  masculine  voice  sent  the  blood 
back  again  into  my  youthful  cheek. 

*^Very  likely  the  ragged  scion  of  one  of  these 
banditti  Irish  gentry,  who  has  taken  naturally  to 
'the  road.'  He  should  be  at  school — though  I 
warrant  me  his  knowledge  of  Terence  will  not 
extend  beyond  his  own  name,"  said  Lord  Henry 
Somerset,  aid-de-camp  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant. 

A  moment  and  I  was  perfectly  calm,  though 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


51 


cold  as  ice.  Dismounting,  and  stepping  to  the 
side  of  the  speaker,  I  said  in  a  low,  firm  voice :  — 

"  Had  your  Lordship  read  Terence  more  care- 
fully, you  would  have  learned  that  banditti  are 
sometimes  proficient  in  other  arts  beside  horse- 
manship," and  I  touched  his  holster  significantly 
with  my  hand.  I  had  not  read  Terence  myself, 
but  with  the  skilful  audacity  of  my  race  I  calcu- 
lated that  a  vague  allusion,  coupled  with  a  threat, 
would  embarrass  him.    It  did. 

"  Ah  —  what  mean  you  ?  "  he  said,  white  with 
rage. 

"Enough,  we  are  observed,"  I  replied;  "Father 
Tom  will  wait  on  you  this  evening ;  and  to-morrow 
morning,  my  lord,  in  the  glen  below  Pilwiddle  we 
w^ill  meet  again." 

"  Father  Tom  —  glen  !  "  ejaculated  the  English- 
man, with  genuine  surprise.  What  ?  do  priests 
carry  challenges  and  act  as  seconds  in  your  in- 
fernal country?" 

"  Yes ! "  I  answered,  scornfully,  "  why  should 
they  not?  Their  services  are  more  often  neces- 
sary than  those  of  a  surgeon,"  I  added  signifi- 
cantly, turning  away. 


52 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


The  party  slowly  rode  off,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Hon.  Blanche  Sackville,  who  lingered  for 
a  moment  behind.  In  aii  instant  I  was  at  her 
side.  Bending  her  blushing  face  over  the  neck 
of  her  white  filly,  she  said  hurriedly :  — 

"Words  have  passed  between  Lord  Somerset 
and  yourself  You  are  about  to  fight.  Don't 
deny  it  —  but  hear  me.  You  will  meet  him  — 
T  know  your  skill  of  weapons.  He  will  be  at 
your  mercy.    I  entreat  you  to  spare  his  life  ! " 

I  hesitated.  "Never!"  I  cried  passionately; 
"  he  has  insulted  a  Denville  ! " 

"  Terence,"  she  whispered,  "  Terence  —  for  my 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
sought  the  ground  in  bashful  confusion. 

"  You  love  him  then  ? "  I  cried,  bitterly. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  agitatedly,  "  no,  you  do  me 
wrong.  I  —  I  —  cannot  explain  myself  My  fa- 
ther !  —  the  Lady  Dowager  Sackville  —  the  estate 
of  Sackville  —  the  borough  —  my  uncle,  Fitzroy 
Somerset.  Ah !  what  am  I  saying  ?  Forgive  me. 
O  Terence,"  she  said,  as  her  beautiful  head  sank 
on  my  shoulder,  "  you  know  not  w^hat  I  suffer  ! " 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


53 


I  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  passionate 
kisses.  But  the  high-bred  English  girl,  recovering 
something  of  her  former  hauteur,  said  hastily, 
"  Leave  me,  leave  me,  but  promise ! " 

"I  promise,"  I  replied,^ enthusiastically ;  "I  will 
spare  his  life  ! " 

"  Thanks,  Terence,  —  thanks  ! "  and  disengaging 
her  hand  from  my  lips  she  rode  rapidly  away. 

The  next  morning,  the  Hon.  Captain  Henry 
Somerset  and  myself  exchanged  nineteen  shots 
in  the  glen,  and  at  each  fire  I  shot  away  a  button 
from  his  uniform.  As  my  last  bullet  shot  off  the 
last  button  from  his  sleeve,  I  remarked  quietly, 
"  You  seem  now,  my  lord,  to  be  almost  as  ragged 
as  the  gentry  you  sneered  at,"  and  rode  haughtily 
away. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIGHTING  FIFTY-SIXTH. 

When  I  was  nineteen  years  old  my  father  sold 
the  Chateau  d'Unville  and  purchased  my  com- 
mission in  the  "  Fifty-sixth  "  with  the  proceeds. 
"  I  say,  Denville,"  said  young  McSpadden,  a  boy- 


54  TERENCE  DENVILLE. 

faced  ensign,  who  had  just  joined,  "you'll  repre- 
sent the  estate  in  the  Army,  if  you  won't  in  the 
House/'  Poor  fellow,  he  paid  for  his  meaningless 
joke  with  his  life,  for  I  shot  him  through  the 
heart  the  next  morning.  You  're  a  good  fellow, 
Denville,"  said  the  poor  boy  faintly,  as  I  knelt  be- 
side him :  "  good  by  ! "  For  the  first  time  since 
my  grandfather's  death  I  wept.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  I  would  have  been  a  better  man  if 
Blanche  —  but  why  proceed  ?  Was  she  not  now 
in  Florence  —  the  belle  of  the  English  Embassy  ? 

But  Napoleon  had  returned  from  Elba.  Europe 
was  in  a  blaze  of  excitement.  The  Allies  were 
preparing  to  resist  the  Man  of  Destiny.  We  were 
ordered  from  Gibraltar  home,  and  were  soon  again 
en  route  for  Brussels.  I  did  not  regret  that  I  was 
to  be  placed  in  active  service.  I  was  ambitious, 
and  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  my- 
self My  garrison  life  in  Gibraltar  had  been 
monotonous  and  dull.  I  had  killed  five  men  in 
duel,  and  had  an  affair  with  the  colonel  of  my 
regiment,  who  handsomely  apologized  before  the 
matter  assumed  a  serious  aspect.  I  had  been 
twice  in  love.  Yet  these  were  but  boyish  freaks 
and  follies.    I  wished  to  be  a  man. 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


55 


The  time  soon  came, — the  morning  of  Waterloo. 
But  why  describe  that  momentous  battle,  on  which 
the  fate  of  the  entire  world  was  hanging  ?  Twice 
were  the  Fifty-sixth  surrounded  by  French  cuiras- 
siers, and  twice  did  we  mow  them  down  by  our 
fire.  I  had  seven  horses  shot  under  me,  and  was 
mounting  the  eighth,  when  an  orderly  rode  up 
hastily,  touched  his  cap,  and,  handing  me  a  de- 
spatch, galloped  rapidly  away. 

I  opened  it  hurriedly  and  read :  — 

''Let  Picton  advance  immediately  on  the 

RIGHT." 

I  saw  it  all  at  a  glance.  I  had  been  mistaken 
for  a  general  officer.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
Picton's  division  was  two  miles  away,  only  acces- 
sible through  a  heavy  cross  fire  of  artillery  and 
musketry.    But  my  mind  was  made  up. 

In  an  instant  I  was  engaged  with  an  entire 
squadron  of  cavalry,  who  endeavored  to  surround 
me.  Cutting  my  way  through  them,  I  advanced 
boldly  upon  a  battery  and  sabred  the  gunners  be- 
fore they  could  bring  their  pieces  to  bear.  Look- 
ing around,  I  saw  that  I  had  in  fact  penetrated 
the  French  centre.    Before  I  was  well  aware  of 


56 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


the  locality,  I  was  hailed  by  a  sharp  voice  in 
French,  —  * 
"  Come  here,  sir ! " 

I  obeyed,  and  advanced  to  the  side  of  a  little 
man  in  a  cocked  hat. 
"  Has  Grouchy  come  ?  " 

"Not  yet,  sire,"  I  replied,  —  for  it  was  the 
Emperor. 

"  Ha  ! "  he  said  suddenly,  bending  his  piercing 
eyes  on  my  uniform ;  "  a  prisoner  ? " 
"  No,  sire,"  I  said,  proudly. 
" A  spy  ? " 

I  placed  my  hand  upon  my  swordj  but  a  gesture 
from  the  Emperor  bade  me  forbear. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,"  he  said. 

I  took  my  snuff-box  from  my  pocket,  and,  tak- 
ing a  pinch,  replied  by  handing  it,  with  a  bow,  to 
the  Emperor. 

His  quick  eye  caught  the  cipher  on  the  lid. 

"  What !  a  D'Enville  ?  Ha  !  this  accounts  for 
tjhe  purity  of  your  accent.  Any  relation  to 
Eoderick  d'Enville  ? " 

"  My  father,  sire." 

"He  was  my  schoolfellow  at  the  Ecole  Poly- 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


57 


technique.  Embrace  me  I "  And  the  Emperor  fell 
upon  lAy  neck  in  the  presence  of  his  entire  staff. 
Then,  recovering  himself,  he  gently  placed  in  my 
hand  his  own  magnificent  snuff-box,  in  exchange 
for  mine,  and  hanging  upon  my  breast  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  which  he  took  from  his 
own,  he  bade  one  of  his  Marshals  conduct  me 
back  to  my  regiment. 

I  was  so  intoxicated  with  the  honor  of  which  I 
had  been  the  recipient,  that  on  reaching  our  lines 
I  uttered  a  shout  of  joy  and  put  spurs  to  my 
horse.  The  intelligent  animal  seemed  to  sympa- 
thize with  my  feelings,  and  fairly  flew  over  the 
ground.  On  a  rising  eminence  a  few  yards  before 
me  stood  a  gray-haired  officer,  surrounded  by  his 
staff  I  don't  know  what  possessed  me,  but  put- 
ting spurs  to  my  horse,  I  rode  at  him  boldly,  and 
with  one  bound  cleared  him,  horse  and  all.  A 
shout  of  indignation  arose  from  the  assembled 
staff.  I  wheeled  suddenly,  with  the  intention  of 
apologizing,  but  my  mare  misunderstood  me,  and, 
again  dashing  forward,  once  more  vaulted  over 
the  head  of  the  officer,  this  time  unfortunately 
uncovering  him  by  a  vicious  kick  of  her  hoof. 

3* 


58 


TERENCE  DENVILLE. 


"  Seize  him ! "  roared  the  entire  army.     I  was 
seized.    As  the  soldiers  led  me  away,  I  asked 
the  name  of  the  gray-haired  officer.     "That  — 
why,  that  's  the  Duke  of  Wellington  ! " 
I  fainted. 

*         *         *         *         *         *  . 

For  six  months  I  had  brain-fever.  During  my 
illness  ten  grapeshot  were  extracted  from  my  body 
which  I  had  unconsciously  received  during  the 
battle.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  I  met  the  sweet 
glance  of  a  Sister  of  Charity. 

"  Blanche  ! "  I  stammered  feebly. 

"  The  same,"  she  replied. 

"  You  here  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  hush  !  It 's  a  long  story.  You 
see,  dear  Terence,  your  gTandfather  married  my 
great-aunt's  sister,  and  your  father  again  married 
my  grandmother's  niece,  who,  dying  without  a 
will,  was,  according  to  the  French  law  —  " 
But  I  do  not  comprehend,"  I  said. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Blanche,  with  her  old  sweet 
smile ;    you  Ve  had  brain-fever  ;  so  go  to  sleep." 

I  understood,  however,  that  Blanche  loved  me  ; 
and  I  am  now,  dear  reader.  Sir  Terence  Sackville, 
K.  C.  B.,  and  Lady  Blanche  is  Lady  Sackville. 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 

By  miss  M.  E.  B— DD— N  and  MRS.  H— N—Y  D. 


CHAPTER  L 

The  sun  was  setting  over  Sloperton  Grange,  and 
reddened  the  window  of  the  lonely  chamber  in  the 
western  tower,  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  Sir 
Edward  Sedilia,  the  founder  of  the  Grange.  In 
the  dreamy  distance  arose  the  gilded  mausoleum 
of  Lady  Felicia  Sedilia,  who  haunted  that  portion 
of  Sedilia  Manor,  known  as  "  Stiff-uns  Acre."  A 
little  to  the  left  of  the  Grange  might  have  been 
seen  a  mouldering  ruin,  known  as  Guy's  Keep," 
haunted  by  the  spirit  of  Sir  Guy  Sedilia,  who  was 
found,  one  morning,  crushed  by  one  of  the  fallen 
battlements.  Yet,  as  the  setting  sun'  gilded  these 
objects,  a  beautiful  and  almost  holy  calm  seemed 
diffused  about  the  Grange. 

The  Lady  Selina  sat  by  an  oriel  window,  over- 
looking the  park.    The  sun  sank  gently  in  the 


60 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


bosom  of  the  German  Ocean,  and  yet  the  lady  did 
not  lift  her  beautiful  head  from  the  finely  curved 
arm  and  diminutive  hand  which  supported  it. 
When  darkness  finally  shrouded  the  landscape 
she  started,  for  the  sound  of  horse-hoofs  clattered 
over  the  stones  of  the  avenue.  She  had  scarcely 
risen  before  an  aristocratic  young  man  fell  on  his 
knees  before  her. 

*'My  Selina!" 

^'Edgardo!    You  here?" 
Yes,  dearest." 

"  And  —  you  —  you  —  have  —  seen  nothing  ?  " 
said  the  lady  in  an  agitated  voice  and  nervous 
manner,  turning  her  face  aside  to  conceal  her 
emotion. 

"Nothing  —  that  is  nothing  of  any  account," 
said  Edgardo.  ''I  passed  the  ghost  of  your  aunt 
in  the  park,  noticed  the  spectre  of  your  uncle  in 
the  ruined  keep,  and  observed  the  familiar  features 
of  the  spirit  of  your  great-grandfather  at  his  usual 
post.  But  nothing  beyond  these  trifles,  my  Selina. 
Nothing  more,  love,  absolutely  nothing." 

The  young  man  turned  his  dark  liquid  orbs 
fondly  upon  the  ingenuous  face  of  his  betrothed. 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


61 


"  My  own  Edgardo  !  —  and  you  still  love  me  ? 
You  still  would  marry  me  in  spite  of  this  dark 
mystery  which  surrounds  me  ?  In  spite  of  the 
fatal  history  of  my  race  ?  In  spite  of  the  ominous 
predictions  of  my  aged  nurse  ? " 

"  I  would,  Selina" ;  and  the  young  man  passed 
his  arm  around  her  yielding  waist.  The  two 
lovers  gazed  at  each  other's  faces  in  unspeakable 
bliss.    Suddenly  Selina  started. 

"  Leave  me,  Edgardo  !  leave  me !  A  mysteriou^s 
something — a  fatal  misgiving  —  a  dark  ambiguity 
—  an  equivocal  mistrust  oppresses  me.  I  would 
be  alone ! " 

The  young  man  arose,  and  cast  a  loving  glance 
on  the  lady.  "  Then  we  will  be  married  on  the 
seventeenth."  ' 

"  The  seventeenth,"  repeated  Selina,  with  a  mys- 
terious shudder. 

They  embraced  and  parted.  As  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  in  the  court-yard  died  away,  the  Lady  Selina 
sank  into  the  chair  she  had  just  quitted. 

"  The  seventeenth,"  she  repeated  slowly,  with 
the  same  fateful  shudder.  "  Ah  !  —  what  if  he 
should  know  that  I  have  another  husband  living  ? 


62 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


Dare  I  reveal  to  liim  that  I  have  two  legitimate 
and  three  natural  children  ?  Dare  I  repeat  to  him 
the  history  of  my  youth  ?  Dare  I  confess  that  at 
the  age  of  seven  I  poisoned  my  sister,  by  putting 
verdigris  in  her  cream-tarts,  —  that  I  threw  my 
cousin  from  a  swing  at  the  age  of  twelve  ?  That 
the  lady's-maid  who  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
my  girlhood  now  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  horse- 
pond  ?  No  !  no  !  he  is  too  pure,  —  too  good, — 
too  innocent,  to  hear  such  improper  conversation ! " 
and  her  whole  body  writhed  as  she  rocked  to  and 
fro  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief. 

But  she  was  soon  calm.  Eising  to  her  feet,  she 
opened  a  secret  panel  in  the  wall,  and  revealed  a 
slow-match  ready  for  lighting. 

"  This  match,"  said  the  Lady  Selina,  "  is  con- 
nected with  a  mine  beneath  the  western  tower, 
where  my  three  children  are  confined ;  another 
branch  of  it  lies  under  the  parish  church,  where 
the  record  of  my  first  marriage  is  kept.  I  have 
only  to  light  this  match  and  the  whole  of  my  past 
life  is  swept  away  !  "  She  approached  the  match 
with  a  lighted  candle. 

But  a  hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm,  and  with  a 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


63 


shriek  the  Lady  Selina  fell  on  her  knees  before  the 
spectre  of  Sir  Guy.  ' 


CHAPTER  II. 

FoRBEAK,  Selina/'  said  the  phantom  in  a  hol- 
low voice. 

"  Why  should  I  forbear  ? "  responded  Selina 
haughtily,  as  she  recovered  her  courage.  ''You 
know  the  secret  of  our  race  ?  " 

"I  do.  Understand  me,  —  I  do  not  object  to 
the  eccentricities  of  your  youth.  I  know  the  fear- 
ful destiny  which,  pursuing  you,  led  you  to  poison 
your  sister  and  drown  your  lady's-maid.  I  know 
the  awful  doom  which  I  have  brought  upon  this 
house  !  But  if  you  make  way  with  these  chil- 
dren—" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Lady  Selina,  hastily 
They  will  haunt  you  ! " 

"Well,  I  fear  them  not,"  said  Selina,  drawing 
her  superb  figure  to  its  full  height. 

"  Yes,  but,  my  dear  child,  what  place  are  they 
to  haunt  ?    The  ruin  is  sacred  to  your  uncle's 


64 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


spirit.  Your  aunt  monopolizes  the  park,  and,  I 
must  be  allowed  to  state,  not  unfrequently  tres- 
passes upon  the  grounds  of  others.  The  horse- 
pond  is  frequented  by  the  spirit  of  your  maid,  and 
your  murdered  sister  walks  these  corridors.  To 
be  plain,  there  is  no  room  at  Sloperton  Grange  for 
another  ghost.  I  cannot  have  them  in  my  room, 
—  for  you  know  I  don't  like  children.  Think  of 
this,  rash  girl,  and  forbear  !  Would  you,  Selina," 
said  the  phantom,  mournfully,  —  "  would  you  force 
your  great-grandfather's  spirit  to  take  lodgings 
elsewhere  ? " 

Lady  Selina's  hand  trembled ;  the  lighted  candle 
fell  from  her  nerveless  fingers. 

"  No,"  she  cried  passionately ;  "  never ! "  and  fell 
fainting  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Edgardo  galloped  rapidly  towards  Sloperton. 
When  the  outline  of  the  Grange  had  faded  away 
in  the  darkness,  he  reined  his  magnificent  steed 
beside  the  ruins  of  Guy's  Keep. 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


65 


It  wants  but  a  few  minutes  of  the  hour/'  he 
said,  consulting  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
"  He  dare  not  break  his  word.  He  will  come."  He 
paused,  and  peered  anxiously  into  the  darkness. 
"  But  come  what  may,  she  is  mine,"  he  continued, 
as  his  thoughts  reverted  fondly  to  the  fair  lady  he 
had  quitted.  "  Yet  if  she  knew  all.  If  she  knew 
that  I  were  a  disgraced  and  ruined  man,  —  a  felon 
and  an  outcast.  If  she  knew  that  at  the  age  of 
fourteen  I  murdered  my  Latin  tutor  and  forged 
my  uncle's  will.  If  she  knew  that  I  had  three 
wives  already,  and  that  the  fourth  victim  of  mis- 
placed confidence  and  my  unfortunate  peculiarity 
is  expected  to  be  at  Sloperton  by  to-night's  train 
with  her  baby.  But  no  ;  she  must  not  know  it. 
Constance  must  not  arrive.  Burke  the  Slogger 
must  attend  to  that. 

"  Ha  !  here  he  is  !   WeU  ?  " 

These  words  were  addressed  to  a  ruffian  in  a 
slouched  hat,  who  suddenly  appeared  from  Guy's 
Keep. 

I  he's  here,  measter,"  said  the  villain,  with  a 
disgracefully  low  accent  and  complete  disregard  of 
grammatical  rules. 


66 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


"  It  is  well.  Listen :  I 'm  in  possession  of  facts 
that  will  send  you  to  the  gallows.  I  know  of  the 
murder  of  Bill  Smithers,  the  robbery  of  the  toll- 
gate-keeper,  and  the  making  away  of  the  youn- 
gest daughter  of  Sir  Eeginald  de  Walton.  A  word 
from  me,  and  the  ofl&cers  of  justice  are  on  your 
track.'' 

Burke  the  Slogger  trembled. 

"  Hark  ye  !  serve  my  purpose,  and  I  may  yet 
save  you.  The  5.30  train  from  Clapham  will  be 
due  at  Sloperton  at  9.25.    It  must  not  arrive  ! '' 

The  villain's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  nodded  at  Ed- 
gardo. 

"  Enough,  —  you  understand ;  leave  me  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

About  half  a  mile  from  Sloperton  Station  the 
South  Clapham  and  Medway  line  crossed  a  bridge 
over  Sloperton-on-Trent.  As  the  shades  of  even- 
ing were  closing,  a  man  in  a  slouched  hat  might 
have  been  seen  carrying  a  saw  and  axe  under  his 
arm,  hanging  about  the  bridge.    From  time  to 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


67 


time  he  disappeared  in  the  shadow  of  its  abut- 
ments, but  the  sound  of  a  saw  and  axe  still  be- 
trayed his  vicinity.  At  exactly  nine  o'clock  he 
reappeared,  and,  crossing  to  the  Sloperton  side, 
rested  his  shoulder  against  the  abutment  and  gave 
a  shove.  The  bridge  swayed  a  moment,  and  then 
fell  with  a  splash  into  the  water,  leaving  a  space 
of  one  hundred  feet  between  the  two  banks.  This 
done,  Burke  the  Slogger,  —  for  it  was  he,  —  with  a 
fiendish  chuckle  seated  himself  on  the  divided 
railway  track  and  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
train. 

A  shriek  from  the  woods  announced  its  ap- 
proach. For  an  instant  Burke  the  Slogger  saw 
the  glaring  of  a  red  lamp.  The  ground  trembled. 
The  train  was  going  with  fearful  rapidity.  An- 
other second  and  it  had  reached  the  bank.  Burke 
the  Slogger  uttered  a  fiendish  laugh.  But  the 
next  moment  the  train  leaped  across  the  chasm, 
striking  the  rails  exactly  even,  and,  dashing  out 
the  life  of  Burke  the  Slogger,  sped  away  to 
Sloperton. 

The  first  object  that  greeted  Edgardo,  as  he  rode 
up  to  the  station  on  the  arrival  of  the  train,  was 


68 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


the  body  of  Burke  the  Slogger  hanging  on  the 
cow-catcher;  the  second  was  the  face  of  his  de- 
serted wife  looking  from  the  windows  of  a  second- 
class  carriage. 


CHAPTER  V. 

'  A  NAMELESS  terror  seemed  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  Clarissa,  Lady  Selina's  maid,  as  she 
rushed  into  the  presence  of  her  mistress. 

"  0  my  lady,  such  news  ! 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  her  mistress,  rising. 

"  An  accident  has  happened  on  the  railway,  and 
a  man  has  been  killed." 

"  What  —  not  Edgardo  !"  almost  screamed  Selina. 

"  No,  Burke  the  Slogger  ! "  your  ladyship. 

"  My  first  husband ! "  said  Lady  Selina,  sinking 
on  her  knees.    "  Just  Heaven,  I  thank  thee ! " 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


69 


CHAPTER  VI.  ^ 

The  morning  of  the  seventeenth  dawned  brightly- 
over  Sloperton.  "A  fine  day  for  the  wedding," 
said  the  sexton  to  Swipes,  the  butler  of  Sloperton 
Grange.  The  aged  retainer  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"Alas!  there  's  no  trusting  in  signs!"  he  con- 
tinued. "Seventy-five  years  ago,  on  a  day  like 
this,  my  young  mistress  —  "  But  he  was  cut  short 
by  the  appearance  of  a  stranger. 

"  I  would  see  Sir  Edgardo,"  said  the  new-comer, 
impatiently. 

The  bridegroom,  who,  with  the  rest  of  the  wed- 
ding-train, was  about  stepping  into  the  carriage  to 
proceed  to  the  parish  church,  drew  the  stranger 
aside. 

"  It  's  done  ! "  said  the  stranger,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  Ah  !  and  you  buried  her  ? " 
"With  the  others!" 

"  Enough.  No  more  at  present.  Meet  me  after 
the  ceremony,  and  you  shall  have  your  reward." 


70 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


The  stranger  shuffled  away,  and  Edgardo  re- 
turned to  his  bride.  "  A  trijfling  matter  of  busi- 
ness I  had  forgotten,  my  dear  Selina ;  let  us  pro' 
ceed."  And  the  young  man  pressed  the  timid  hand 
of  his  blushing  bride  as  he  handed  her  into  the 
carriage.  The  cavalcade  rode  out  of  the  court-yard. 
At  the  same  moment,  the  deep  bell  on  Guy's 
Keep  tolled  ominously. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

Scarcely  had  the  wedding-train  left  the  Grange, 
than  Alice  Sedilia,  youngest  daughter  of  Lady 
Selina,  made  her  escape  from  the  western  tower, 
owing  to  a  lack  of  watchfulness  on  the  part  of 
Clarissa.  The  innocent  child,  freed  from  restraint, 
rambled  through  the  lonely  corridors,  and  finally, 
opening  a  door,  found  herself  in  her  mother's 
boudoir.  For  some  time  she  amused  herself  by 
examining  the  various  ornaments  and  elegant 
trifles  with  which  it  was  filled.  Then,  in  pur- 
suance of  a  childish  freak,  she  dressed  herseK  in 
her  mothers  laces  and  ribbons.     In  this  occu- 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


71 


pation  she  chanced  to  touch  a  peg  which  proved 
to  be  a  spring  that  opened  a  secret  panel  in  the 
wall.  Alice  uttered  a  cry  of  delight  as  she  noticed 
what,  to  her  childish  fancy,  appeared  to  be  the 
slow-match  of  a  fire-work.  Taking  a  lucifer  match 
in  her  hand  she  approached  the  fuse.  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment.  What  would  her  mother  and 
her  nurse  say  ? 

Suddenly  the  ringing  of  the  chimes  of  Sloperton 
parish  church  met  her  ear.  Alice  knew  that  the 
sound  signified  that  the  marriage  party  had  entered 
the  church,  and  that  she  was  secure  from  inter- 
ruption. With  a  childish  smile  upon  her  lips, 
Alice  Sedilia  touched  off  the  slow-match. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

At  exactly  two  o'clock  on  the  seventeenth, 
Eupert  Sedilia,  who  had  just  returned  from  India, 
was  thoughtfully  descending  the  hill  toward 
Sloperton  manor.  "  If  I  can  prove  that  my  aunt 
Lady  Selina  was  married  before  my  father  died. 


72 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


I  can  establish  my  claim  to  Sloperton  Grange," 
he  littered,  half  aloud.  He  paused,  for  a  sudden 
trembling  of  the  earth  beneath  his  feet,  and  a 
terrific  explosion,  as  of  a  park  of  artillery,  arrested 
his  progress.  At  the  same  moment  he  beheld  a 
dense  cloud  of  smoke  envelop  the  churchyard 
of  Sloperton,  and  the  western  tower  of  the  Grange 
seemed  to  be  lifted  bodily  from  its  foundation. 
The  air  seemed  filled  with  falling  fragments,  and 
two  dark  objects  struck  the  earth  close  at  his  feet. 
Eupert  picked  them  up.  One  seemed  to  be  a 
heavy  volume  bound  in  brass. 
A  cry  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  The  Parish  Eecords."  He  opened  the  volume 
hastily.  It  contained  the  marriage  of  Lady  Selina 
to  "  Burke  the  Slogger." 

The  second  object  proved  to  be  a  piece  of  parch- 
ment. He  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers.  It 
was  the  missing  will  of  Sir  James  Sediha  I 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 


73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

When  the  bells  again  rang  on  the  new  parish 
church  of  Sloperton  it  was  for  the  marriage  of  Sir 
Eupert  Sedilia  and  his  cousin,  the  only  remaining 
members  of  the  family. 

Five  more  ghosts  were  added  to  the  supernatural 
population  of  Sloperton  Grange.  Perhaps  this 
was  the  reason  why  Sir  Eupert  sold  the  property 
shortly  afterward,  and  that  for  many  years  a  dark 
shadow  seemed  to  hang  over  the  ruins  of  Sloper- 
ton Grange. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 

By  AL— X— D— R  D— M— S. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SHOWING  THE  QUALITY  OF  THE  CUSTOMERS  OP  THE  INN- 
KEEPER OF  PROVINS. 

Twenty  years  after,  the  gigantic  innkeeper  of 
Proving  stood  looking  at  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the 
highway. 

This  cloud  of  dust  betokened  the  approach  of  a 
traveller.  Travellers  had  been  rare  that  season  on 
the  highway  between  Paris  and  Provins. 

The  heart  of  the  innkeeper  rejoiced.  Turning 
to  Dame  Perigord,  his  wife,  he  said,  stroking  his 
white  apron :  — 

"  St.  Denis !  make  haste  and  spread  the  cloth. 
Add  a  bottle  of  Charlevoix  to  the  table.  This 
traveller,  who  rides  so  fast,  by  his  pace  must 
be  a  Monseigneur." 

Truly  the  traveller,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  a 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  75 


musketeer,  as  he  drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  hos- 
telry, did  not  seem  to  have  spared  his  horse. 
Throwing  his  reins  to  the  landlord,  he  leaped 
lightly  to  the  ground.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
four-and-twenty,  and  spoke  with  a  slight  Gascon 
accent. 

"  I  am  hungry,  Morhleu  !    I  wish  to  dine  !  " 

The  gigantic  innkeeper  bowed  and  led  the  way 
to  a  neat  apartment,  where  a  table  stood  covered 
with  tempting  viands.  The  musketeer  at  once  set 
to  work.  Fowls,  fish,  and  pdt4s  disappeared  before 
him.  Perigord  sighed  as  he  witnessed  the  devas- 
tations.   Only  once  the  stranger  paused. 

"  Wine ! "  Perigord  brought  wine.  The  stranger 
drank  a  dozen  bottles.  Finally  he  rose  to  depart. 
Turning  to  the  expectant  landlord,  he  said :  — 

"Charge  it." 

"  To  whom,  your  highness  ? "  said  Perigord,  anx- 
iously. 

"  To  his  Eminence  ! " 

"Mazarin     ejaculated  the  innkeeper. 

"The  same.  Bring  me  my  horse,"  and  the  mus- 
keteer, remounting  his  favorite  animal,  rode  away. 

The  innkeeper  slowly  turned  back  into  the  inn. 


76  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


Scarcely  had  he  reached  the  courtyard  before  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  again  called  him  to  the  doorway. 
'A  young  musketeer  of  a  light  and  graceful  figure 
rode  up. 

"  Parbleu,  my  dear  Perigord,  I  am  famishing. 
What  have  you  got  for  dinner  ? " 

"  Venison,  capons,  larks,  and  pigeons,  your  excel- 
lency," replied  the  obsequious  landlord,  bowing  to 
the  ground. 

"  Enough ! "  The  young  musketeer  dismounted 
and  entered  the  inn.  Seating  himself  at  t?ie  table 
replenished  by  the  careful  Perigord,  he  speedily 
swept  it  as  clean  as  the  first  comer. 

"  Some  wine,  my  brave  Perigord,"  said  the  grace- 
ful young  musketeer,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  ut- 
terance. 

Perigord  brought  three  dozen  of  Charlevoix.  The 
young  man  emptied  them  almost  at  a  draught. 

"  By-by,  Perigord,"  he  said  lightly,  waving  his 
hand,  as,  preceding  the  astonished  landlord,  he 
slowly  withdrew. 

"But,  your  highness,  —  the  bill,"  said  the  as- 
tounded Perigord. 

"Ah,  the  bill.    Charge  it!" 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMfcN.  77 


"  To  whom  ?  " 

The  Queen  ! 
"  What,  Madame  ?  " 
The  same.  Adieu,  my  good  Perigord."  And  the 
graceful  stranger  rode  away.  An  interval  of  quiet 
succeeded,  in  which  the  innkeeper  gazed  wofuUy 
at  his  wife.  Suddenly  he  was  startled  by  a  clatter 
of  hoofs,  and  an  aristocratic  figure  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  courtier  good-naturedly.  "  What, 
do  my  eyes  deceive  me  ?  Ko,  it  is  the  festive  and 
luxurious  Perigord.  Perigord,  listen.  I  famish.  I 
languish.    I  would  dine." 

The  innkeeper  again  covered  the  table  with 
viands.  Again  it  was  swept  clean  as  the  fields 
of  Egypt  before  the  miraculous  swarm  of  locusts. 
The  stranger  looked  up. 

"  Bring  me  another  fowl,  my  Perigord." 
Impossible,  your  excellency ;  the  larder  is 
stripped  clean." 

"  Another  flitch  of  bacon,  then." 

"  Impossible,  your  highness  ;  there  is  no 
more." 

"  Well,  then,  wine  ! 


78  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


The  landlord  brought  one  hundred  and  forty- 
four  bottles.    The  courtier  drank  them  all. 

One  may  drink  if  one  cannot  eat,"  said  the 
aristocratic  stranger,  good-humoredly. 

The  innkeeper  shuddered. 

The  guest  rose  to  depart.  The  innkeeper  came 
slowly  forward  with  his  bill,  to  which  he  had 
covertly  added  the  losses  which  he  had  suffered 
from  the  previous  strangers. 

"  Ah,  the  bill.    Charge  it." 

"  Charge  it !  to  whom  ?  " 
To  the  King,"  said  the  guest. 

'^What!  his  Majesty?" 

"  Certainly.    Farewell,  Perigord." 

The  innkeeper  groaned.  Then  he  went  out  and 
took  down  his  sign.   Then  remarked  to  his  wife :  — 

"  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  don't  understand  poli- 
tics. It  seems,  however,  that  the  country  is  in  a 
troubled  state.  Between  his  Eminence  the  Cardi- 
nal, his  Majesty  the  King,  and  her  Majesty  the 
Queen,  I  am  a  ruined  man." 

"  Stay,"  said  Dame  Perigord,  "  I  have  an  idea." 

"  And  that  is  —  " 

"  Become  yourself  a  musketeer." 


THE  NINETY-NIKE  GUARDSMEN. 


79 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  COMBAT. 

On  leaving  Provins  the  first  musketeer  pro- 
ceeded to  Nangis,  where  he  was  reinforced  by 
thirty-three  followers.  The  second  musketeer,  ar- 
riving at  Nangis  at  the  same  moment,  placed  him- 
self at  the  head  of  thirty-three  more.  The  third 
guest  of  the  landlord  of  Provins  arrived  at  Nan- 
gis  in  time  to  assemble  together  thirty-three  other 
musketeers. 

The  first  stranger  led  the  troops  of  his  Emi- 
nence. 

The  second  led  the  troops  of  the  Queen. 

The  third  led  the  troops  of  the  King. 

The  fight  commenced.  It  raged  terribly  for 
seven  hours.  The  first  musketeer  killed  thirty  of 
the  Queen's  troops.  The  second  musketeer  killed 
thirty  of  the  King's  troops.  The  third  musketeer 
killed  thirty  of  his  Eminence's  troops. 

By  xhis  time  it  will  be  perceived  the  number  of 


80 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


musketeers  had  been  narrowed  down  to  four  on 
each  side. 

Naturally  the  three  principal  warriors  approached 
each  other. 

They  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Aramis  ! " 

"  Athos  ! " 

"  D'Artagnan  ! " 

They  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

"  And  it  seems  that  we  are  fighting  against  each 
other,  my  children/'  said  the  Count  de  la  Fere, 
mournfully. 

"  How  singular  !  "  exclaimed  Aramis  and  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"  Let  us  stop  this  fratricidal  warfare,"  said  Athos. 

"  We  will !  "  they  exclaimed  together. 

"  But  how  to  disband  our  followers  ?  "  queried 
D'Artagnan. 

Aramis  Avinked.  They  understood  each  other. 
"  Let  us  cut  'em  down  !  " 

They  cut  'em  down.  Aramis  killed  three.  D'Ar- 
tagnan  three.    Athos  three. 

The  friends  again  embraced.  "How  like  old 
times,"  said  Aramis.  "  How  touching ! "  exclaimed 
the  serious  and  philosophic  Count  de  la  Fere. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  81 


The  galloping  of  hoofs  caused  them  to  withdraw 
from  each  other's  embraces.  A  gigantic  figure 
rapidly  approached. 

The  innkeeper  of  Provins  ! "  they  cried,  draw- 
ing their  swords. 

"  Perigord,  down  with  him ! "  shouted  D'Ar- 
tagnan. 

"  Stay,"  said  Athos. 

The  gigantic  figure  was  beside  them.  He  uttered 
a  cry. 

"  Athos,  Aramis,  D  Artagnan  ! " 

"  Porthos  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  trio. 

"  The  same."   They  all  fell  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  slowly  raised  his  hands  to 
Heaven.  "  Bless  you  !  Bless  us,  my  children  ! 
However  different  our  opinion  may  be  in  regard 
to  politics,  we  have  but  one  opinion  in  regard  to 
our  own  merits.  Where  can  you  find  a  better 
man  than  Aramus  ? " 

Than  Porthos  ? "  said  Aramis. 

"  Than  D' Artagnan  ?  "  said  Porthos. 
Than  Athos  ?  "  said  D  Artagnan. 


4* 


F 


82 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  KING  OF  FRANCE  WENT  UP  A  LADDER. 

The  King  descended  into  the  garden.  Proceed- 
ing cautiously  along  the  terraced  walk/ he  came  to 
the  wall  immediately  below  the  windows  of  Ma- 
dame. To  the  left  were  two  windows,  concealed  by 
vines.  They  opened  into  the  apartments  of  La 
Valliere. 

The  King  sighed. 

"  It  is  about  nineteen  feet  to  that  window,"  said 
the  King.  "  If  I  had  a  ladder  about  nineteen  feet 
long,  it  would  reach  to  that  window.  This  is 
logic." 

Suddenly  the  King  stumbled  over  something. 

St.  Denis  ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  down.  It 
was  a  ladder,  just  nineteen  feet  long. 

The  King  placed  it  against  the  wall.  In  so 
doing,  he  fixed  the  lower  end  upon  the  abdomen 
of  a  man  who  lay  concealed  by  the  wall.  The 
man  did  not  utter  a  cry  or  wince.  The  King  sus- 
pected nothing.    He  ascended  the  ladder. 


THE  KINETr-XlNL  •iUARDSMEN. 


83 


The  ladder  was  too  short.  Louis  the  Grand  was 
not  a  tall  man.  He  was  still  two  feet  below  the 
window. 

Dear  me ! "  said  the  King. 

Suddenly  the  ladder  was  lifted  rwo  feet  from 
below.  This  enabled  the  King  to  leap  in  the 
window.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment 
stood  a  young  girl,  with  red  hair  and  a  lame  leg. 
She  was  trembling  with  emotion. 

^'Louise!" 

"The  King!" 
Ah,  my  God,  mademoiselle." 

"  Ah,  my  God,  sire." 

But  a  low  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  the 
lovers.  The  King  uttered  a  cry  of  rage ;  Louise 
one  of  despair. 

The  door  opened  and  D'Artagnan  entered. 

"  Good  evening,  sire,"  said  the  musketeer. 

The  King  touched  a  bell.  Porthos  appeared  in 
the  doorway. 

"  Good  evening,  sire." 

"  Arrest  M.  D' Artagnan." 

Porthos  looked  at  D' Artagnan,  and  did  not 
move. 


84  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


The  King  almost  turned  purple  with  rage.  He 
again  touched  the  bell.    Athos  entered. 
Count,  arrest  Perthes  and  D'Artagnan." 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  glanced  at  Perthes  and 
D'Artagnan,  and  smiled  sweetly. 

"  Sacre  !  Where  is  Aramis  ? "  said  the  King, 
violently. 

"  Here,  sire,"  and  Aramis  entered. 

"  Arrest  Athos,  Perthes,  and  D'Artagnan." 

Aramis  bowed  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  Arrest  yourself !  " 

Aramis  did  not  move. 

The  King  shuddered  and  turned  pale.  "  Am  I 
not  King  of  France  ? 

"  Assuredly,  sire,  but  we  are  also  severally,  Por- 
thos,  Aramis,  D'Artagnan,  and  Athos." 

"Ah!"  said  the  King. 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? " 

"  It  means,  your  Majesty,"  said  Aramis,  stepping 
forward,  "  that  your  conduct  as  a  married  man  is 
highly  improper.  I  am  an  Abb^,  and  I  object  to 
these  improprieties.  My  friends  here,  D'Artagnan, 
Athos,  and  Perthes,  pure-minded  young  men,  are 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 


85 


also  terribly  shocked.  Observe,  sire,  how  they 
blush!" 

Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artagnan  blushed. 

"  Ah,'*  said  the  King,  thoughtfully.  "  You  teach 
me  a  lesson.  You  are  devoted  and  noble  young 
gentlemen,  but  your  only  weakness  is  your  exces- 
sive modesty.  From  this  moment  I  make  you  all 
Marshals  and  Dukes,  with  the  exception  of 
Aramis. 

"  And  me,  sire  ?    said  Aramis. 

"  You  shall  be  an  Archbishop  ! " 

The  four  friends  looked  up  and  then  rushed  into 
each  other's  arms.  The  King  embraced  Louise  de 
la  Valliere,  by  way  of  keeping  them  company.  A 
pause  ensued.    At  last  Athos  spoke :  — 

Swear,  my  children,  that,  next  to  yourselves, 
you  will  respect  —  the  King  of  France;  and  re- 
member that  'Forty  years  after'  we  will  meet 
again." 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

By  sir  ED— D  L— TT— N  B— LW— R. 


BOOK  I. 

THE  PROMPTINGS  OF  THE  IDEAL. 

It  was  noon.  Sir  Edward  had  stepped  from 
his  brougham  and  was  proceeding  on  foot  down 
the  Strand.  He  was  dressed  with  his  usual  fault- 
less taste,  but  in  alighting  from  his  vehicle  his 
foot  had  slipped,  and  a  small  round  disk  of  con- 
glomerated soil,  which  instantly  appeared  on 
his  high  arched  instep,  marred  the  harmonious 
glitter  of  his  boots.  Sir  Edward  was  fastidious. 
Casting  his  eyes  around,  at  a  little  distance  he 
perceived  the  stand  of  a  youthful  bootblack. 
Thither  he  sauntered,  and  carelessly  placing  his 
foot  on  the  low  stool,  he  waited  the  application  of 
the  polisher's  art.  "'T  is  true,"  said  Sir  Edward 
to  himself,  yet  half  aloud,  "the  contact  of  the 
Foul  and  the  Disgusting  mars  the  general  effect 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.  87 

of  the  Shiny  and  the  Beautiful — and,  yet,  why 
am  I  here  ?  I  repeat  it,  calmly  and  deliberately 
—  why  am  I  here  ?    Ha  !  Boy ! " 

The  Boy  looked  up  —  his  dark  Italian  eyes 
glanced  intelligently  at  the  Philosopher,  and  as 
with  one  hand  he  tossed  back  his  glossy  curls 
from  his  marble  brow,  and  with  the  other  he 
spread  the  equally  glossy  Day  &  Martin  over  the 
Baronet's  boot,  he  answered  in  deep  rich  tones: 
"The  Ideal  is  subjective  to  the  Eeal.  The  exer- 
cise of  apperception  gives  a  distinctiveness  to 
idiocracy,  which  is,  however,  subject  to  the  limits 
of  Me.  You  are  an  admirer  of  the  Beautiful,  sir. 
You  wish  your  boots  blacked.  The  Beautiful  is 
attainable  by  means  of  the  Coin." 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  Edward  thoughtfully,  gazing, 
upon  the  almost  supernal  beauty  of  the  Child 
before  him;  "you  speak  well.  You  have  read 
Kantr 

The  Boy  blushed  deeply.  He  drew  a  copy  of 
Kant  from  his  blouse,  but  in  his  confusion  several 
other  volumes  dropped  from  his  bosom  on  the 
ground.    The  Baronet  picked  them  up. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Philosopher,  "what  's  this? 


88  THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 


Cicerds  De  Senectute,  at  your  age,  too  ?  MartiaVs 
Epigrams,  Ccesar's  Commentaries.  What!  a  clas- 
sical scholar  ? " 

E  pluribus  Unum.  Nux  vomica.  Nil  despe- 
randum.  Nihil  fit ! "  said  the  Boy,  enthusiastically. 
The  Philosopher  gazed  at  the  Child.  A  strange 
presence  seemed  to  transfuse  and  possess  him. 
Over  the  brow  of  the  Boy  glittered  the  pale  nim- 
bus of  the  Student. 

"  Ah,  and  Schiller's  Bobbers,  too  ? "  queried  the 
Philosopher. 

"  Das  ist  ausgespielt,"  said  the  Boy,  modestly. 

"  Then  you  have  read  my  translation  of  Schiller's 
Ballads  ?  "  continued  the  Baronet,  with  some  show 
of  interest. 

^  "  I  have,  and  infinitely  prefer  them  to  the  origi- 
nal," said  the  Boy,  with  intellectual  warmth.  "  You 
have  shown  how  in  Actual  life  we  strive  for  a  Goal 
we  cannot  reach;  how  in  the  Ideal  the  Goal  is 
attainable,  and  there  effort  is  victory.  You  have 
given  us  the  Antithesis  which  is  a  key  to  the 
Eemainder,  and  constantly  balances  before  us  the 
conditions  of  the  Actual  and  the  privileges  of  the 
Ideal." 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.  89 

"  My  very  words/'  said  the  Baronet ;  "  wonder- 
ful, wonderful ! "  and  lie  gazed  fondly  at  the  Italian 
boy,  who  again  resumed  his  menial  employment. 
Alas !  the  wings  of  the  Ideal  were  folded.  The 
Student  had  been  absorbed  in  the  Boy. 

But  Sir  Edward's  boots  were  blacked,  and  he 
turned  to  depart.  Placing  his  hand  upon  the 
clustering  tendrils  that  surrounded  the  classic 
nob  of  the  infant  Italian,  he  said  softly,  like  a 
strain  of  distant  music  :  — 

"Boy,  you  have  done  well.  Love  the  Good. 
Protect  the  Innocent.    Provide  for  The  Indigent. 

Eespect  the  Philosopher  Stay!    Can  you 

tell  we  what  is  The  True,  The  Beautiful,  The  In- 
nocent, The  Virtuous  ? " 

"  They  are  things  that  commence  with  a  capital 
letter,"  said  the  Boy,  promptly. 

"  Enough  !  Eespect  everything  that  commences 
with  a  capital  letter !  Eespect  Me  ! "  and  drop- 
ping a  half-penny  in  the  hand  of  the  boy,  he 
departed. 

The  Boy  gazed  fixedly  at  the  coin.  A  frightful 
and  instantaneous  change  overspread  his  features. 
His  noble  brow  was  corrugated  with  baser  Unes 


90  THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

of  calculation.  His  black  eye,  serpent-like,  glit- 
tered with  suppressed  passion.  Dropping  upon 
his  hands  and  feet,  he  crawled  to  the  curbstone 
and  hissed  after  the  retreating  form  of  the  Baronet, 
the  single  word :  — 
"Bilk!" 


BOOK  II. 

IN   THE  WORLD. 

"  Eleven  years  ago,"  said  Sir  Edward  to  him- 
self, as  his  brougham  slowly  rolled  him  toward 
the  Committee  Eoom;  "just  eleven  years  ago  my 
natural  son  disappeared  mysteriously.  I  have  no 
doubt  in  the  world  but  that  this  little  bootblack 
is  he.  His  mother  died  in  Italy.  He  resembles 
his  mother  very  much.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  pro- 
vide for  him.  Shall  I  disclose  myself  ?  No  !  no  ! 
Better  he  should  taste  the  sweets  of  Labor.  Pen- 
ury ennobles  the  mind  and  kindles  the  Love  of 
the  Beautiful.  I  will  act  to  him,  not  like  a 
Father,  not  like  a  Guardian,  not  like  a  Friend  — 
but  like  a  Philosopher  ! " 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.  91 


With  these  words,  Sir  Edward  entered  the  Com- 
mittee Eoom.  His  Secretary  approached  him. 
"  Sir  Edward^  there  are  fears  of  a  division  in  the 
House,  and  the  Prime  Minister  has  sent  for  you." 

"  I  will  be  there/'  said  Sir  Edward,  as  he  placed 
his  hand  on  his  chest  and  uttered  a  hollow  cough ! 

No  one  who  heard  the  Baronet  that  night,  in  his 
sarcastic  and  withering  speech  on  the  Drainage 
and  Sewerage  Bill,  would  have  recognized  the 
lover  of  the  Ideal  and  the  Philosopher  of  the  Beau- 
tiful. No  one  who  listened  to  his  eloquence  would 
have  dreamed  of  the  Spartan  resolution  this  iron 
man  had  taken  in  regard  to  the  Lost  Boy  —  his 
own  beloved  Lionel.    None  ! 

"  A  fine  speech  from  Sir  Edward  to-night,"  said 
Lord  Billingsgate,  as,  arm-and-arm  with  the  Pre- 
mier, he  entered  his  carriage. 

"  Yes  !  but  how  dreadfully  he  coughs  ! " 

"  Exactly.  Dr.  Bolus  says  his  lungs  are  entirely 
gone ;  he  breathes  entirely  by  an  effort  of  will,  and 
altogether  independent  of  pulmonary  assistance." 

"  How  strange ! "  and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 


92  THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 


BOOK  III. 

THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

Adon  Ai,  appear  !  appear ! " 

And  as  the  Seer  spoke,  the  awful  Presence  glided 
out  of  Nothingness,  and  sat,  sphinx-like,  at  the  feet 
of  the  Alchemist. 

"  I  am  come  ! "  said  the  Thing. 

"  You  should  say,  '  I  have  come,'  —  it 's  better 
grammar,"  said  the  Boy-Neophyte,  thoughtfully 
accenting  the  substituted  expression. 

"  Hush,  rash  Boy,"  said  the  Seer,  sternly.  "Would 
you  oppose  your  feeble  knowledge  to  the  infinite 
intelligence  of  the  Unmistakable  ?  A  word,  and 
you  are  lost  forever." 

The  Boy  breathed  a  silent  prayer,  and,  handing 
a  sealed  package  to  the  Seer,  begged  him  to 
hand  it  to  his  father  in  case  of  his  premature  de- 
cease. 

"  You  have  sent  for  me,"  hissed  the  Presence. 
"  Behold  me,  Apokatharticon,  —  the  Unpronounce- 
able.   In  me  all  things  exist  that  are  not  already 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.  93 

coexistent.  I  am  the  Unattainable,  the  Intangi- 
ble, the  Cause,  and  the  Effect.  In  me  observe  the 
Brahma  of  Mr.  Emerson ;  not  only  Brahma  him- 
self, but  also  the  sacred  musical  composition  re- 
hearsed by  the  faithful  Hindoo.  I  am  the  real 
Gyges.    None  others  are  genuine." 

And  the  veiled  Son  of  the  Starbeam  laid  him- 
self loosely  about  the  room,  and  permeated  Space 
generally. 

"  Unfathomable  Mystery,"  said  the  Eosicrucian 
in  a  low,  sweet  voice.  "  Brave  Child  with  the  Vitre- 
ous Optic  !  Thou  who  pervadest  all  things  and 
rubbest  against  us  without  abrasion  of  the  cuticle. 
I  command  thee,  speak  ! " 

And  the  misty,  intangible,  indefinite  Presence 
spoke. 


BOOK  IV. 

MYSELF. 

After  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter,  the 
reader  will  perceive  that  nothing  was  easier  than 
to  reconcile  Sir  Edward  to  his  son  Lionel,  nor  to 
resuscitate  the  beautiful  Italian  girl,  who,  it  ap- 


94  THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 


pears,  was  not  dead,  and  to  cause  Sir  Edward  to 
marry  his  first  and  boyish  love,  whom  he  had  de- 
serted. They  were  married  in  St.  George's,  Han- 
over Square.  As  the  bridal  party  stood  before  the 
altar.  Sir  Edward,  with  a  sweet  sad  smile,  said,  in 
quite  his  old  manner :  — 

"  The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  are  the  Eeal ;  the 
only  Ideal  is  the  Eidiculous  and  Homely.  Let  us 
always  remember  this.  Let  us  through  life  en- 
deavor to  personify  the  virtues,  and  always  begin 
'em  with  a  capital  letter.  Let  us,  whenever  we 
can  find  an  opportunity,  deliver  our  sentiments  in 
the  form  of  round-hand  copies.  Eespect  the  Aged. 
Eschew  Vulgarity.  Admire  Ourselves.  Eegard 
the  Novelist." 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 

By   CH— K— S    D— CK— S. 
♦ 

PART  I. 

THE  FIRST  PHANTOM. 

Don't  tell  me  that  it  was  n't  a  knocker.  I  had 
seen  it  often  enough,  and  I  ought  to  know.  So 
ought  the  three-o'clock  beer,  in  dirty  high-lows, 
swinging  himself  over  the  railing,  or  executing  a 
demoniacal  jig  upon  the  doorstep ;  so  ought  the 
butcher,  although  butchers  as  a  general  thing  are 
scornful  of  such  trifles ;  so  ought  the  postman,  to 
whom  knockers  of  the  most  extravagant  descrip- 
tion were  merely  human  weaknesses,  that  were  to 
be  pitied  and  used.  And  so  ought,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

But  then  it  was  such  a  knocker.  A  w^ild,  ex- 
travagant, and  utterly  incomprehensible  knocker. 
A  knocker  so  mysterious  and  suspicious  that 
Policeman  X  37,  first  coming  upon  it,  felt  inclined 


96 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


to  take  it  instantly  in  custody,  but  compromised 
with  his  professional  instincts  by  sharply  and 
sternly  noting  it  with  an  eye  that  admitted  of  no 
nonsense,  but  confidently  expected  to  detect  its 
secret  yet.  An  ugly  knocker ;  a  knocker  with  a 
hard,  human  face,  that  was  a  type  of  the  harder 
human  face  within.  A  human  face  that  held  be- 
tween its  teeth  a  brazen  rod.  So  hereafter,  in  the 
mysterious  future  should  be  held,  etc.,  etc. 

But  if  the  knocker  had  a  fierce  human  aspect 
in  the  glare  of  day,  you  should  have  seen  it  at 
night,  when  it  peered  out  of  the  gathering  shadows 
and  suggested  an  ambushed  figure ;  when  the  light 
of  the  street  lamps  fell  upon  it,  and  wrought  a 
play  of  sinister  expression  in  its  hard  outlines ; 
when  it  seemed  to  wink  meaningly  at  a  shrouded 
figure  who,  as  the  night  fell  darkly,  crept  up  the 
steps  and  passed  into  the  mysterious  house  ;  when 
the  swinging  door  disclosed  a  black  passage  into 
which  the  figure  seemed  to  lose  itself  and  become 
a  part  of  the  mysterious  gloom ;  when  the  night 
grew  boisterous  and  the  fierce  wind  made  furious 
charges  at  the  knocker,  as  if  to  wrench  it  off  and 
carry  it  away  in  triumph.    Such  a  night  as  this. 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN.  97 

It  was  a  wild  and  pitiless  wind.  A  wind  that 
had  commenced  life  as  a  gentle  country  zephyr, 
but  wandering  through  manufacturing  towns  had 
become  demoralized,  and  reaching  the  city  had 
plunged  into  extravagant  dissipation  and  wild  ex- 
cesses. A  roistering  wind  that  indulged  in  Bac- 
chanalian shouts  on  the  street  corners,  that  knocked 
off  the  hats  from  the  heads  of  helpless  passengers, 
and  then  fulfilled  its  duties  by  speeding  away,  like 
all  yoimg  prodigals,  —  to  sea. 

He  sat  alone  in  a  gloomy  library  listening  to  the 
wind  that  roared  in  the  chimney.  Around  him 
novels  and  story-books  were  strewn  thickly;  in 
his  lap  he  held  one  with  its  pages  freshly  cut,  and 
turned  the  leaves  wearily  until  his  eyes  rested 
upon  a  portrait  in  its  frontispiece.  And  as  the  wind 
howled  the  more  fiercely,  and  the  darkness  with- 
out fell  blacker,  a  strange  and  fateful  likeness  to 
that  portrait  appeared  above  his  chair  and  leaned 
upon  his  shoulder.  The  Haunted  Man  gazed  at 
the  portrait  and  sighed.  The  figure  gazed  at  the 
portrait  and  sighed  too. 

"  Here  again  ? "  said  the  Haunted  Man. 
Here  again,"  it  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 

5  a 


98 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


"  Another  novel  ?  " 
"  Another  novel." 
" The  old  story?" 
"  The  old  story." 

"I  see  a  child,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  gazing 
from  the  pages  of  the  book  into  the  fire,  —  "  a  most 
unnatural  child,  a  model  infant.  It  is  premature- 
ly old  and  philosophic.  It  dies  in  poverty  to  slow 
music.  It  dies  surrounded  by  luxury  to  slow 
music.  It  dies  with  an  accompaniment  of  golden 
water  and  ratthng  carts  to  slow  music.  Previous 
to  its  decease  it  makes  a  will ;  it  repeats  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  it  kisses  the  'boofer  lady.'   That  child  —  " 

"  Is  mine,"  said  the  phantom. 

"  I  see  a  good  woman,  undersized.  I  see  several 
charming  women,  but  they  are  all  undersized. 
They  are  more  or  less  imbecile  and  idiotic,  but 
always  fascinating  and  undersized.  They  wear 
coquettish  caps  and  aprons.  I  observe  that  femi- 
nine virtue  is  invariably  below  the  medium  height, 
and  that  it  is  always  simple  and  infantine.  These 
women  —  " 

"  Are  mine." 

"  I  see  a  haughty,  proud,  and  wicked  lady.  She 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


99 


is  tall  and  queenly.  I  remark  that  all  proud  and 
wicked  women  are  tall  and  queenly.  That  wo- 
man —  " 

"  Is  mine,"  said  the  phantom,  wringing  his 
hands. 

"  I  see  several  things  continually  impending.  I 
observe  that  whenever  an  accident,  a  murder,  or 
death  is  about  to  happen,  there  is  something  in  the 
furniture,  in  the  locality,  in  the  atmosphere,  that 
foreshadows  and  suggests  it  years  in  advance.  I 
cannot  say  that  in  real  life  I  have  noticed  it,  — 
the  perception  of  this  surprising  fact  belongs  —  " 

"  To  me ! "  said  the  phantom.  The  Haunted 
Man  continued,  in  a  despairing  tone  :  — 

"  I  see  the  influence  of  this  in  the  magazines 
and  daily  papers ;  I  see  weak  imitators  rise  up  and 
enfeeble  the  world  with  senseless  formula.  I  am 
getting  tired  of  it.  It  won't  do,  Charles  !  it  won't 
do ! "  and  the  Haunted  Man  buried  his  head  in  his 
hands  and  groaned.  The  figure  looked  down  upon 
him  sternly :  the  portrait  in  the  frontispiece  frowned 
as  he  gazed. 

"  Wretched  man,"  said  the  phantom,  and  how 
have  these  things  affected  you  ? " 


100 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


"Once  I  laughed  and  cried,  but  then  I  was 
younger.    Now,  I  would  forget  them  if  I  could." 

"  Have  then  your  wish.  And  take  this  with 
you,  man  whom  I  renounce.  From  this  day  hence- 
forth you  shall  live  with  those  whom  I  displace. 
Without  forgetting  me,  't  will  be  your  lot  to  walk 
through  life  as  if  we  had  not  met.  But  first  you 
shall  survey  these  scenes  that  henceforth  must  be 
yours.  At  one  to-night,  prepare  to  meet  the  phan- 
tom I  have  raised..   Farewell !  " 

The  sound  of  its  voice  seemed  to  fade  away 
with  the  dying  wind,  and  the  Haunted  Man  was 
alone.  But  the  firelight  flickered  gayly,  and  the 
light  danced  on  the  walls,  making  grotesque  figures 
of  the  furniture. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  said  the  Haunted  Man,  rubbing  his 
hands  gleefully  ;  "  now  for  a  whiskey  punch  and  a 
cigar." 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


101 


BOOK  II. 

THE  SECOND  PHANTOM. 

One  !  The  stroke  of  the  far-off  beU  had  hardly- 
died  before  the  front  door  closed  with  a  reverberat- 
ing clang.  Steps  were  heard  along  the  passage ; 
the  library  door  swung  open  of  itself,  and  the 
Knocker  —  yes,  the  Knocker  —  slowly  strode 
into  the  room.  The  Haunted  Man  rubbed  his 
eyes,  —  no  !  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it,  — 
it  was  the  Knocker's  face,  mounted  on  a  misty, 
almost  imperceptible  body.  The  brazen  rod  was 
transferred  from  its  mouth  to  its  right  hand,  where 
it  was  held  like  a  ghostly  truncheon. 

It 's  a  cold  evening,"  said  the  Haunted  Man. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  Goblin,  in  a  hard,  metallic 
voice. 

"It  must  be  pretty  cold  out  there,"  said  the 
Haunted  Man,  with  vague  politeness.  "  Do  you 
ever  —  will  you  —  take  some  hot  water  and 
brandy  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  Goblin. 


102 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


"  Perhaps  you 'd  like  it  cold,  by  way  of  change  ? " 
continued  the  Haunted  Man,  correcting  himself,  as 
he  remembered  the  peculiar  temperature  with 
which  the  Goblin  was  probably  familiar. 

"  Time  flies,'*  said  the  Goblin  coldly.  "  We  have 
no  leisure  for  idle  talk.  Come  ! "  He  moved  his 
ghostly  truncheon  toward  the  window,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  other's  arm.  At  his  touch  the  body 
of  the  Haunted  Man  seemed  to  become  as  thin  and 
incorporeal  as  that  of  the  Goblin  himself,  and  to- 
gether they  glided  out  of  the  window  into  the 
black  and  blowy  night. 

In  the  rapidity  of  their  flight  the  senses  of  the 
Haunted  Man  seemed  to  leave  him.  At  length 
they  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  battlemented  mediaeval  castle.  Gallant 
men  in  mail  ride  over  the  drawbridge,  and  kiss 
their  gauntleted  fingers  to  fair  ladies,  who  wave 
their  lily  hands  in  return.  I  see  fight  and  fray 
and  tournament.  I  hear  roaring  heralds  bawling 
the  charms  of  delicate  women,  and  shamelessly 
proclaiming  their  lovers.  Stay.  I  see  a  Jewess 
about  to  leap  from  a  battlement.    I  see  knightly 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


103 


deeds,  violence,  rapine,  and  a  good  deal  of  blood. 
I  Ve  seen  pretty  much  the  same  at  Astley's." 
"  Look  again." 

"  I  see  purple  moors,  glens,  masculine  women, 
bare-legged  men,  priggish  book- worms,  more  vio- 
lence, physical  excellence,  and  blood.  Always 
blood,  —  and  the  superiority  of  physical  attain- 
ments." 

And  how  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  said  the  Goblin. 

The  Haunted  Man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
''None  the  better  for  being  carried  back  and 
asked  to  sympathize  with  a  barbarous  age." 

The  Goblin  smiled  and  clutched  his  arm  ;  they 
again  sped  rapidly  through  the  black  night  and 
again  halted. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  said  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  barrack  room,  with  a  mess  table,  and  a 
group  of  intoxicated  Celtic  officers  telling  funny 
stories,  and  giving  challenges  to  duel.  I  see  a 
young  Irish  gentleman  capable  of  performing 
prodigies  of  valor.  I  learn  incidentally  that  the 
acme  of  all  heroism  is  the  cornetcy  of  a  dragoon 
regiment.  I  hear  a  good  deal  of  French  !  ISTo, 
thank  you,"  said  the  Haunted  Man  hurriedly,  as 


104 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


he  stayed  the  waving  hand  of  the  Goblin ;  "  I 
would  rather  not  go  to  the  Peninsula,  and  don't 
care  to  have  a  private  interview  with  Napo- 
leon/' 

Again  the  Goblin  flew  away  with  the  unfor- 
tunate man,  and  from  a  strange  roaring  below 
them  he  judged  they  were  above  the  ocean.  A 
ship  hove  in  sight,  and  the  Goblin  stayed  its 
flight.  "  Look,"  he  said,  squeezing  his  companion's 
arm. 

The  Haunted  Man  yawned.  "  Don't  you  think, 
Charles,^  you  're  rather  running  this  thing  into  the 
ground  ?  Of  course  it 's  very  moral  and  instruc- 
tive, and  all  that.  But  ain't  there  a  little  too 
much  pantomime  about  it  ?    Come  now  !  " 

"  Look  ! "  repeated  the  Goblin,  pinching  his  arm 
malevolently.    The  Haunted  Man  groaned. 

"  0,  of  course,  I  see  her  Majesty's  ship  Are- 
thusa.  Of  course  I  am  familiar  with  her  stern 
First  Lieutenant,  her  eccentric  Captain,  her  one 
fascinating  and  several  mischievous  midshipmen. 
Of  course  I  know  it 's  a  splendid  thing  to  see  all 
this,  and  not  to  be  seasick.  0,  there  the  young 
gentlemen  are  going  to  play  a  trick  on  the  purser. 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


105 


For  God's  sake,  let  us  go/'  and  the  unhappy  man 
absolutely  dragged  the  Goblin  away  with  him. 

When  they  next  halted,  it  was  at  the  edge  of  a 
broad  and  boundless  prairie,  in  the  middle  of  an 
oak  opening. 

"  1  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  without  waiting 
for  his  cue,  but  mechanically,  and  as  if  he  were 
repeating  a  lesson  which  the  Goblin  had  taught 
him,  —  "I  see  the  Noble  Savage.  He  is  very  fine  to 
look  at !  But  I  observe  under  his  war-paint, 
feathers,  and  picturesque  blanket,  dirt,  disease, 
and  an  unsymmetrical  contour.  I  observe  beneath 
his  inflated  rhetoric  deceit  and  hypocrisy ;  be- 
neath his  physical  hardihood,  cruelty,  malice,  and 
revenge.  The  Noble  Savage  is  a  humbug.  I  re- 
marked the  same  to  Mr.  Catlin." 
Come,"  said  the  phantom. 

The  Haunted  Man  sighed,  and  took  out  his 
watch.  "  Could  n't  we  do  the  rest  of  this  another 
time  ? " 

"  My  hour  is  almost  spent,  irreverent  being, 
but  there  is  yet  a  chance  for  your  reformation. 
Come  ! " 

Again  they  sped  through  the  night,  and  again 

5* 


106 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


halted.  The  sound  of  delicious  but  melancholy 
music  fell  upon  their  ears. 

"  I  see/'  said  the  Haunted  Man,  with  something 
of  interest  in  his  manner,  —  ''I  see  an  old  moss- 
covered  manse  beside  a  sluggish,  flowing  river.  I 
see  weird  shapes  :  witches,  Puritans,  clergymen,  lit- 
tle children,  judges,  mesmerized  maidens,  moving 
to  the  sound  of  melody  that  thrills  me  with  its 
sweetness  and  purity.  But,  although  carried  along 
its  calm  and  evenly  flowing  current,  the  shapes  are 
strange  and  frightful :  an  eating  lichen  gnaws  at  the 
heart  of  each.  Not  only  the  clergymen,  but  witch, 
maiden,  judge,  and  Puritan,  all  wear  Scarlet  Letters 
of  some  kind  burned  upon  their  hearts.  I  am  fas- 
cinated and  thrilled,  but  I  feel  a  morbid  sensitive- 
ness creeping  over  me.  I  —  I  beg  your  pardon." 
The  Goblin  was  yawning  frightfully.  "  Well,  per- 
haps we  had  better  go." 

One  more,  and  the  last,"  said  the  Goblin. 

They  were  moving  home.  Streaks  of  red  were 
beginning  to  appear  in  the  eastern  sky.  Along  the 
banks  of  the  blackly  flowing  river  by  moorland 
and  stagnant  fens,  by  low  houses,  clustering  close 
to  the  water's  edge,  like  strange  mollusks,  crawled 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


107 


upon  the  beach  to  dry ;  by  misty  black  barges,  the 
more  misty  and  indistinct  seen  through  its  mys- 
terious veil,  the  river  fog  was  slowly  rising.  So 
rolled  away  and  rose  from  the  heart  of  the 
Haunted  Man,  etc.,  etc. 

They  stopped  before  a  quaint  mansion  of  red 
brick.  The  Goblin  waved  his  hand  without  speak- 
ing. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  "  a  gay  draw- 
ing-room. I  see  my  old  friends  of  the  club,  of 
the  college,  of  society,  even  as  they  lived  and 
moved.  I  see  the  gallant  and  unselfish  men, 
whom  I  have  loved,  and  the  snobs  whom  I  have 
hated.  I  see  strangely  mingling  with  them,  and 
now  and  then  blending  with  their  forms,  our  old 
friends  Dick  Steele,  Addison,  and  Congreve.  I 
observe,  though,  that  these  gentlemen  have  a 
habit  of  getting  too  much  in  the  way.  The  royal 
standard  of  Queen  Anne,  not  in  itself  a  beautiful 
ornament,  is  rather  too  prominent  in  the  picture. 
The  long  galleries  of  black  oak,  the  formal  furni- 
ture, the  old  portraits,  are  picturesque,  but  de- 
pressing. The  house  is  damp.  I  enjoy  myself 
better  here  on  the.  lawn,  where  they  are  getting 


108 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


up  a  Vanity  Fair.  See,  the  bell  rings,  the  curtain 
is  rising,  the  puppets  are  brought  out  for  a  new 
play.    Let  me  see." 

The  Haunted  Man  was  pressing  forward  in  his 
eagerness,  but  the  hand  of  the  Goblin  stayed  him, 
and  pointing  to  his  feet  he  saw,  between  him  and 
the  rising  curtain,  a  new-made  grave.  And  bend- 
ing above  the  grave  in  passionate  grief,  the 
Haunted  Man  beheld  the  phantom  of  the  pre- 
vious night 

The  Haunted  Man  started,  and  —  woke.  The 
bright  sunshine  streamed  into  the  room.  The  air 
was  sparkling  with  frost.  He  ran  joyously  to  the 
window  and  opened  it.  A  small  boy  saluted  him 
with  "  Merry  Christmas."  The  Haunted  Man  in- 
stantly gave  him  a  Bank  of  England  note.  "  How 
much  like  Tiny  Tim,  Tom,  and  Bobby  that  boy 
looked,  —  bless  my  soul,  what  a  genius  this  Dick- 
ens has ! " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  Boots  entered. 
"  Consider  your  salary  doubled  instantly.  Have 
you  read  David  Copj^erfield  ? 
"Yezzur." 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 


109 


"Your  salary  is  quadrupled.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop  ? " 

The  man  instantly  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears, 
and  then  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Enough  !  Here  are  five  thousand  pounds. 
Open  a  porter-house,  and  call  it,  '  Our  Mutual 
Friend.'  Huzza !  I  feel  so  happy  ! "  And  the 
Haunted  Man  danced  about  the  room. 

And  so,  bathed  in  the  light  of  that  blessed  sun, 
and  yet  glowing  with  the  warmth  of  a  good  action, 
the  Haunted  Man,  haunted  no  longer,  save  by 
those  shapes  which  make  the  dreams  of  children 
beautiful,  reseated  himself  in  his  chair,  and  fin- 
ished Our  Mutual  Friend. 


MISS  MIX. 

By  CH— L—TTE  BR— NTE. 


CHAPEER  I. 

My  earliest  impressions  are  of  a  huge,  mis- 
shapen rock,  against  which  the  hoarse  waves 
beat  unceasingly.  On  this  rock  three  pelicans 
are  standing  in  a  defiant  attitude.  A  dark  sky- 
lowers  in  the  background,  whUe  two  sea-gulls 
and  a  gigantic  cormorant  eye  with  extreme  dis- 
favor the  floating  corpse  of  a  drowned  woman  in 
the  foreground.  A  few  bracelets,  coral  necklaces, 
and  other  articles  of  jewelry,  scattered  around 
loosely,  complete  this  remarkable  picture. 

It  is  one  which,  in  some  vague,  unconscious 
way,  symbolizes,  to  my  fancy,  the  character  of  a 
man.  I  have  never  been  able  to  explain  exactly 
why.  I  think  I  must  have  seen  the  picture  in 
some  illustrated  volume,  when  a  baby,  or  my 
mother  may  have  dreamed  it  before  I  was  born. 


MISS  MIX. 


Ill 


As  a  child  I  was  not  handsome.  When  I  con- 
sulted the  triangular  bit  of  looking-glass  which  I 
always  carried  with  me,  it  showed  a  pale,  sandy, 
and  freckled  face,  shaded  by  locks  like  the  color 
of  seaweed  when  the  sun  strikes  it  in  deep  water. 
My  eyes  were  said  to  be  indistinctive ;  they  were 
a  faint,  ashen  gray;  but  above  them  rose  —  my 
only  beauty  —  a  high,  massive,  domelike  forehead, 
with  polished  temples,  like  door-knobs  of  the 
purest  porcelain. 

Our  family  was  a  family  of  governesses.  My 
mother  had  been  one,  and  my  sisters  had  the 
same  occupation.  Consequently,  when,  at  the  age 
of  thirteen,  my  eldest  sister  handed  me  the  adver- 
tisement of  Mr.  Eawjester,  clipped  from  that  day's 
Times,"  I  accepted  it  as  my  destiny.  Neverthe- 
less, a  mysterious  presentiment  of  an  indefinite 
future  haunted  me  in  my  dreams  that  night,  as  I 
lay  upon  my  little  snow-white  bed.  The  next 
morning,  with  two  bandboxes  tied  up  in  silk  hand- 
kerchiefs, and  a  hair  trunk,  I  turned  my  back 
upon  Minerva  Cottage  forever. 


112 


MISS  MIX. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Blunderbore  Hall,  the  seat  of  James  Eaw- 
j  ester,  Esq.,  was  encompassed  by  dark  pines  and 
funereal  hemlocks  on  all  sides.  The  wind  sang 
weirdly  in  the  turrets  and  moaned  through  the 
long-drawn  avenues  of  the  park.  As  I  approached 
the  house  I  saw  several  mysterious  figures  flit  be- 
fore the  windows,  and  a  yell  of  demoniac  laughter 
answered  my  summons  at  the  bell.  While  I 
strove  to  repress  my  gloomy  forebodings,  the 
housekeeper,  a  timid,  scared-looking  old  woman, 
showed  me  into  the  library. 

I  entered,  overcome  with  conflicting  emotions. 
I  was  dressed  in  a  narrow  gown  of  dark  serge, 
trimmed  with  black  bugles.  A  thick  green  shawl 
was  pinned  across  my  breast.  My  hands  were 
encased  with  black  half-mittens  worked  with  steel 
beads ;  on  my  feet  were  large  pattens,  originally 
the  property  of  my  deceased  grandmother.  I 
carried  a  blue  cotton  umbrella.  As  I  passed 
before  a  mirror,  I  could  not  help  glancing  at  it. 


MISS  MIX. 


113 


nor  could  I  disguise  from  myself  the  fact  that 
I  was  not  handsome. 

Drawing  a  chair  into  a  recess,  I  sat  down  with 
folded  hands,  calmly  awaiting  the  arrival  of  my 
master.  Once  or  twice  a  fearful  yell  rang  through 
the  house,  or  the  rattling  of  chains,  and  curses 
uttered  in  a  deep,  manly  voice,  broke  upon  the 
oppressive  stillness.  I  began  to  feel  my  soul 
rising  with  the  emergency  of  the  moment. 

"  You  look  alarmed,  miss.  You  don't  hear  any- 
thing, my  dear,  do  you  V  asked  the  housekeeper 
nervously. 

''Nothing  whatever,"  I  remarked  calmly,  as  a 
terrific  scream,  followed  by  the  dragging  of  chairs 
and  tables  in  the  room  above,  drowned  for  a 
moment  my  reply.  "  It  is  the  silence,  on  the  con- 
trary, which  has  made  me  foolishly  nervous." 

The  housekeeper  looked  at  me  approvingly,  and 
instantly  made  some  tea  for  me. 

I  drank  seven  cups;  as  I  was  beginning  the 
eighth,  I  heard  a  crash,  and  the  next  moment  a 
man  leaped  into  the  room  through  the  broken 
window. 

B 


114, 


MISS  MIX. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  crash  startled  me  from  my  self-control.  The 
housekeeper  bent  toward  me  and  whispered :  — 

"Don't  be  excited.  It  's  Mr.  Eawjester,  —  he 
prefers  to  come  in  sometimes  in  this  way.  It 's 
his  playfulness,  ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

"  I  perceive/'  I  said  calmly.  "  It 's  the  unfettered 
impulse  of  a  lofty  soul  breaking  the  tjrrannizing 
bonds  of  custom."   And  I  turned  toward  him. 

He  had  never  once  looked  at  me.  He  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  which  set  off  the  hercu- 
lean breadth  of  his  shoulders.  His  face  was  dark 
and  expressive;  his  under  jaw  squarely  formed, 
and  remarkably  heavy.  I  was  struck  with  his 
remarkable  likeness  to  a  Gorilla. 

As  he  absently  tied  the  poker  into  hard  knots 
with  his  nervous  fingers,  I  watched  him  with  some 
interest.    Suddenly  he  turned  toward  me :  — 

"  Do  you  think  I 'm  handsome,  young  woman  ? " 

"  Not  classically  beautiful,"  I  returned  calmly ; 
"but  you  have,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  an 


MISS  MIX. 


115 


abstract  manliness,  —  a  sincere  and  wholesome 
barbarity  which,  involving  as  it  does  the  natural- 
ness— "  But  I  stopped,  for  he  yawned  at  that 
moment,  —  an  action  which  singularly  developed 
the  immense  breadth  of  his  lower  jaw,  —  and  I 
saw  he  had  forgotten  me.  Presently  he  turned  to 
the  housekeeper :  — 
"  Leave  us." 

The  old  woman  withdrew  with  a  courtesy. 

Mr.  Eawj  ester  deliberately  turned  his  back  upon 
me  and  remained  silent  for  twenty  minutes.  I 
drew  my  shawl  the  more  closely  around  my  shoul- 
ders and  closed  my  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  governess  ? "  at  length  he  said. 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"  A  creature  who  teaches  geography,  arithmetic, 
and  the  use  of  the  globes  —  ha  !  —  a  wretched 
remnant  of  femininity,  —  a  skimp  pattern  of  girl- 
hood with  a  premature  flavor  of  tea-leaves  and 
morality.    Ugh ! " 

I  bowed  my  head  silently. 

"  Listen  to  me,  girl ! "  he  said  sternly ;  "this  child 
you  have  come  to  teach  —  my  ward — is  not  legit- 
imate.   She  is  the  offspring  of  my  mistress,  —  a 


116 


MISS  MIX. 


common  harlot.  Ah !  Miss  Mix,  what  do  you 
think  of  me  now  ? " 

"I  admire/'  I  replied  calmly,  "your  sincerity. 
A  mawkish  regard  for  delicacy  might  have  kept 
this  disclosure  to  yourself.  I  only  recognize  in 
your  frankness  that  perfect  community  of  thought 
and  sentiment  which  should  exist  between  original 
natures." 

I  looked  up  ;  he  had  already  forgotten  my  pres- 
ence, and  was  engaged  in  pulling  off  his  boots  and 
coat.  This  done,  he  sank  down  in  an  arm-chair 
before  the  fire,  and  ran  the  poker  wearily  through 
his  hair.    I  could  not  help  pitying  him. 

The  wind  howled  dismally  without,  and  the  rain 
beat  furiously  against  the  windows.  I  crept  to- 
ward him  and  seated  myself  on  a  low  stool  beside 
his  chair. 

Presently  he  turned,  without  seeing  me,  and 
placed  his  foot  absently  in  my  lap.  I  affected  not 
to  notice  it.    But  he  started  and  looked  down. 

"  You  here  yet  —  Carrothead  ?  Ah,  I  forgot. 
Do  you  speak  French  ? " 

"  Oui,  Monsieur'^ 

"  TaiseZ'Vous  !    he  said  sharply,  with  singular 


MISS  MIX. 


117 


purity  of  accent.    I  complied.    The  wind  moaned 
fearfully  in  the  chimney,  and  the  light  burned 
dimly.    I  shuddered  in  spite  of  myself.  "Ah, 
you  tremble,  girl ! " 
"  It  is  a  fearful  night." 

"Fearful!  Call  you  this  fearful,  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Look!  you  wretched  little  atom,  look!"  and  he 
dashed  forward,  and,  leaping  out  of  the  window, 
stood  like  a  statue  in  the  pelting  storm,  with 
folded  arms.  He  did  not  stay  long,  but  in  a  few 
minutes  returned  by  way  of  the  hall  chimney.  I 
saw  from  the  way  that  he  wiped  his  feet  on  my 
dress  that  he  had  again  forgotten  my  presence. 

"  You  are  a  governess.  What  can  you  teach  ? " 
he  asked,  suddenly  and  fiercely  thrusting  his  faca 
in  mine. 

"  Manners ! "  I  replied,  calmly. 

"  Ha !  teach  me  !  " 

"You  mistake  yourself,"  I  said,  adjusting  my 
mittens.  "  Your  manners  require  not  the  artificial 
restraint  of  society.  You  are  radically  polite ;  this 
impetuosity  and  ferociousness  is  simply  the  sin- 
cerity which  is  the  basis  of  a  proper  deportment. 
Your  instincts  are  moral:  your  better  nature,  I 


118  MISS  MIX. 

see,  is  religious.  As  St.  Paul  justly  remarks  — 
see  chap.  6,  8,  9,  and  10  —  " 

He  seized  a  heavy  candlestick,  and  threw  it  at 
me.    I  dodged  it  submissively  but  firmly. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  remarked,  as  his  under  jaw 
slowly  relaxed.  "  Excuse  me,  Miss  Mix  —  but  I 
can't  stand  St.  Paul!  Enough — you  are  en- 
gaged." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  FOLLOWED  the  housekeeper  as  she  led  the  way 
timidly  to  my  room.  As  we  passed  into  a  dark 
hall  in  the  wing,  I  noticed  that  it  was  closed  by 
an  iron  gate  with  a  grating.  Three  of  the  doors 
on  the  corridor  were  likewise  grated.  A  strange 
noise,  as  of  shuffling  feet  and  the  howling  of  in- 
furiated animals,  rang  through  the  hall.  Bidding 
the  housekeeper  good  night,  and  taking  the  candle, 
I  entered  my  bedchamber. 

I  took  off  my  dress,  and,  putting  on  a  yellow 
flannel  nightgown,  which  I  could  not  help  feeling 
did  not  agree  with  my  complexion,  I  composed 


MISS  MIX. 


119 


myself  to  rest  by  reading  Blair's  Bhetoric  and 
PaUy's  Moral  Philosophy.  I  had  just  put  out  the 
light,  when  I  heard  voices  in  the  corridor.  I  lis- 
tened attentively.  I  recognized  Mr.  Eawj  ester's 
stern  tones. 

"  Have  you  fed  No.  1  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  a  gruff  voice,  apparently  belong- 
ing to  a  domestic. 

"How's  No.  2?" 

"  She 's  a  little  off  her  feed,  just  now,  but  will 
pick  up  in  a  day  or  two  ! " 
"And  No.  3?" 

"  Perfectly  furious,  sir.    Her  tantrums  are  un- 
governable." 
"  Hush!" 

The  voices  died  away,  and  I  sank  into  a  fitful 
slumber. 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  wandering  through  a  trop- 
ical forest.  Suddenly  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  gorilla 
approaching  me.  As  it  neared  me,  I  recognized 
the  features  of  Mr,  Eawjester.  He  held  his  hand 
to  his  side  as  if  in  pain..  I  saw  that  he  had  been 
wounded.  He  recognized  me  and  called  me  by 
name,  but  at  the  same  moment  the  vision  changed 


120 


MISS  MIX. 


to  an  Ashantee  village,  where,  around  the  fire,  a 
group  of  negroes  were  dancing  and  participating 
in  some  wild  Ohi  festival.  I  awoke  with  the 
strain  still  ringing  in  my  ears. 

"  Hokee-pokee  wokee  fum  ! " 

Good  Heavens  !  could  I  be  dreaming  ?  I  heard 
the  voice  distinctly  on  the  floor  below,  and  smelt 
something  burning.  I  arose,  with  an  indistinct 
presentiment  of  evil,  and  hastily  putting  some 
cotton  in  my  ears  and  tying  a  towel  about  my 
head,  I  wrapped  myself  in  a  shawl  and  rushed 
down  stairs.  The  door  of  Mr.  Eawj  ester's  room 
was  open.    I  entered. 

Mr.  Eawj  ester  lay  apparently  in  a  deep  slumber, 
from  which  even  the  clouds  of  smoke  that  came 
from  the  burning  curtains  of  his  bed  could  not 
rouse  him.  Around  the  room  a  large  and  power- 
ful negress,  scantily  attired,  with  her  head  adorned 
with  feathers,  was  dancing  wildly,  accompanying 
herself  with  bone  castanets.  It  looked  like  some 
terrible  fetich. 

I  did  not  lose  my  calmness.  After  firmly  empty- 
ing the  pitcher,  basin,  and  slop-jar  on  the  burning 
bed,  I  proceeded  cautiously  to  the  garden,  and, 


MISS  MIX.  121 

returning  with  the  garden-engine,  I  directed  a 
small  stream  at  Mr.  Eawj  ester. 

At  my  entrance  the  gigantic  negress  fled.  Mr. 
Ea.wj  ester  yawned  and  woke.  I  explained  to  him, 
as  he  rose  dripping  from  the  bed,  the  reason  of  my 
presence.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  excited,  alarmed, 
or  discomposed.    He  gazed  at  me  curiously. 

"  So  you  risked  your  life  to  save  mine,  eh  ?  you 
canary-colored  teacher  of  infants." 

I  blushed  modestly,  and  drew  my  shawl  tightly 
over  my  yellow  flannel  nightgown. 

"  You  love  me,  Mary  Jane,  —  don't  deny  it ! 
This  trembling  shows  it ! "  He  drew  me  closely 
toward  him,  and  said,  with  his  deep  voice  tenderly 
modulated :  — 

"  How 's  her  pooty  tootens,  —  did  she  get  her 
'ittle  tootens  wet,  —  bess  her  ? " 

I  understood  his  allusion  to  my  feet.  I  glanced 
down  and  saw  that  in  my  hurry  I  had  put  on  a 
pair  of  his  old  india-rubbers.  My  feet  were  not 
small  or  pretty,  and  the  addition  did  not  add  to 
their  beauty. 

Let  me  go,  sir,"  I  remarked  quietly.  "  This  is 
entirely  improper ;  it  sets  a  bad  example  for  your 

6 


122 


MISS  MIX. 


child."  And  I  firmly  but  gently  extricated  myself 
from  his  grasp.     I  approached  the  door.  He 
seemed  for  a  moment  buried  in  deep  thouglit. 
You  say  this  was  a  negress  ?  " 
"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Humph,  No.  1,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Who  is  Number  One,  sir  ?  " 

"  My  first!'  he  remarked,  with  a  significant  and 
sarcastic  smile.  Then,  relapsing  into  his  old  man- 
ner, he  threw  his  boots  at  my  head,  and  bade  me 
begone.    I  withdrew  calmly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

My  pupil  was  a  bright  little  girl,  who  spoke 
French  with  a  perfect  accent.  Her  mother  had 
been  a  French  ballet-dancer,  which  probably  ac- 
counted for  it.  Altiiough  she  was  only  six  years 
old,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  she  had  been  sev- 
eral times  in  love.    She  once  said  to  me  :  — 

Miss  Mix,  did  you  ever  have  the  grande  pas- 
sion ?  Did  you  ever  feel  a  fluttering  here  ?  "  and 
she  placed  her  hand  upon  her  small  chest,  and 


MISS  MIX. 


123 


sighed  quaintly,  "a  kind  of  distaste  for  bonbons 
and  caromels,  when  the  world  seemed  as  tasteless 
and  hollow  as  a  broken  cordial  drop." 

"  Then  you  have  felt  it,  Mna  ? "  I  said  quietly. 

"  0  dear,  yes.  There  was  Buttons,  —  that  was 
our  page,  you  know,  —  I  loved  him  dearly,  but 
papa  sent  him  away.  Then  there  was  Dick,  the 
groom,  but  he  laughed  at  me,  and  I  suffered  mis- 
ery ! "  and  she  struck  a  tragic  Trench  attitude. 
"There  is  to  be  company  here  to-morrow,"  she 
added,  rattling  on  with  childish  nawete,  "  and 
papa's  sweetheart  —  Blanche  Marabout  —  is  to 
be  here.  You  know  they  say  she  is  to  be  my 
mamma." 

"What  thrill  was  this  shot  through  me  ?  But  I 
rose  calmly,  and,  administering  a  slight  correction 
to  the  child,  left  the  apartment. 

Blunderbore  House,  for  the  next  week,  was  the 
scene  of  gayety  and  merriment.  That  portion  of 
the  mansion  closed  with  a  grating  was  walled  up, 
and  the  midnight  shrieks  no  longer  troubled  me. 

But  I  felt  more  keenly  the  degradation  of  my 
situation.  I  was  obliged  to  help  Lady  Blanche  at 
her  toilet  and  help  her  to  look  beautiful.  For 


124 


MISS  MIX. 


what  ?  To  captivate  him  ?  0  —  no,  no,  —  but 
why  this  sudden  thrill  and  faintness  ?  Did  he 
really  love  her  ?  I  had  seen  him  pinch  and  swear 
at  her.  But  I  reflected  that  he  had  thrown  a  can- 
dlestick at  my  head,  and  my  foolish  heart  was  re- 
assured. 

It  was  a  night  of  festivity,  when  a  sudden  mes- 
sage obliged  Mr.  Eawjester  to  leave  his  guests  for 
a  few  hours.  "  Make  yourselves  merry,  idiots,"  he 
added,  under  his  breath,  as  he  passed  me.  The 
door  closed  and  he  was  gone. 

An  half-hour  passed.  In  the  midst  of  the  dan- 
cing a  shriek  was  heard,  and  out  of  the  swaying 
crowd  of  fainting  women  and  excited  men  a  wild 
figure  strode  into  the  room.  One  glance  showed 
it  to  be  a  highwayman,  heavily  armed,  holding  a 
pistol  in  each  hand. 

"  Let  no  one  pass  out  of  this  room  ! he  said,  in 
a  voice  of  thunder.  "  The  house  is  surrounded  and 
you  cannot  escape.  The  first  one  who  crosses  yon- 
der threshold  will  be  shot  like  a  dog.  Gentlemen, 
I  '11  trouble  you  to  approach  in  single  file,  and  hand 
me  your  purses  and  watches." 

Finding  resistance  useless,  the  order  was  ungra- 
ciously obeyed. 


MISS  MIX. 


125 


"  Now,  ladies,  please  to  pass  up  your  jewelry 
and  trinkets." 

This  order  was  still  more  ungraciously  complied 
with.  As  Blanche  handed  to  the  bandit  captain 
her  bracelet,  she  endeavored  to  conceal  a  diamond 
necklace,  the  gift  of  Mr.  Eawj ester,  in  her  bosom. 
But,  with  a  demoniac  grin,  the  powerful  brute  tore 
it  from  its  concealment,  and,  administering  a  hearty 
box  on  the  ear  of  the  young  girl,  flung  her  aside. 

It  was  now  my  turn.  With  a  beating  heart  I 
made  my  way  to  the  robber  chieftain,  and  sank  at 
his  feet.  0  sir,  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor  gover- 
ness, pray  let  me  go." 

"  0  ho  !  A  governess  ?  Give  me  your  last 
month's  wages,  then.  Give  me  what  you  have 
stolen  from  your  master  ! "  and  he  laughed  fiend- 
ishly. 

I  gazed  at  him  quietly,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 
"  1  have  stolen  nothing  from  you,  Mr.  Eawjester  !" 

"  Ah,  discovered !  Hush  !  listen,  girl ! "  he  hissed, 
in  a  fiercer  whisper,  "  utter  a  syllable  to  frustrate 
my  plans  and  you  die  ;  aid  me,  and — • "  But  he 
was  gone. 

In  a  few  moments  the  party,  with  the  exception 


126 


MISS  MIX. 


of  myself,  were  gagged  and  locked  in  tlie  cellar. 
The  next  moment  torches  were  applied  to  the  rich 
hangings,  and  the  house  was  in  flames.  I  felt  a 
strong  hand  seize  me,  and  bear  me  out  in  the  open 
air  and  place  me  upon  the  hillside,  where  I  could 
overlook  the  burning  mansion.  It  was  Mr.  Eaw- 
j  ester. 

"  Burn !  he  said,  as  he  shook  his  fist  at  the 
flames.  Then  sinking  on  his  knees  before  me,  he 
said  hurriedly :  — 

"  Mary  Jane,  I  love  you ;  the  obstacles  to  our 
union  are  or  will  be  soon  removed.  In  yonder 
mansion  were  confined  my  three  crazy  wives. 
One  of  them,  as  you  know,  attempted  to  kill 
me !  Ha !  this  is  vengeance  !  But  will  you  be 
mine  ? " 

I  fell,  without  a  word,  upon  his  neck. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE; 

OR, 

^^ENTIEE." 

A  MUSCULAR  NOVEL. 
BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF      SWORD  AND  GUN." 


CHAPTER  I. 
"Nerei  repandirostrum  incur vicervicum  pecus." 

A  DINGY,  swashy,  splashy  afternoon  in  October ; 
a  school-yard  filled  with  a  mob  of  riotous  boys.  A 
lot  of  us  standing  outside. 

Suddenly  came  a  dull,  crashing  sound  from  the 
school-room.  At  the  ominous  interruption  I  shud- 
dered involuntarily,  and  called  to  Smithsye :  — 

"  What 's  up,  Smithums  ? " 

"Guy  's  cleaning  out  the  fourth  form,"  he 
replied. 

At  the  same  moment  George  de  Coverly  passed 
toe,  holding  his  nose,  from  whence  the  bright  Nor- 


128 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


man  blood  streamed  redly.  To  him  the  plebeian 
Smithsye  laughingly :  — 

"  Cully  !  how 's  his  nibs  ? " 

I  pushed  the  door  of  the  school-room  open. 
There  are  some  spectacles  which  a  man  never 
forgets.  The  burning  of  Troy  probably  seemed 
a  large-sized  conflagration  to  the  pious  ^neas, 
and  made  an  impression  on  him  which  he  carried 
away  with  the  feeble  Anchises. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room,  lightly  brandishing 
the  piston-rod  of  a  steam-engine,  stood  Guy  Heavy- 
stone  alone.  I  say  alone,  for  the  pile  of  small  boys 
on  the  floor  in  the  corner  could  hardly  be  called 
company. 

I  will  try  and  sketch  him  for  the  reader.  Guy 
Heavystone  was  then  only  fifteen.  His  broad, 
deep  chest,  his  sinewy  and  quivering  flank,  his 
straight  pastern,  showed  him  to  be  a  thorough- 
bred. Perhaps  he  was  a  trifle  heavy  in  the  fet- 
lock, but  he  held  his  head  haughtily  erect.  His 
eyes  were  glittering  but  pitiless.  There  was  a 
sternness  about  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  —  the 
old  Heavystone  look,  —  a  sternness,  heightened, 
perhaps,  by  the  snafile-bit  which,  in  one  of  his 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


129 


strange  freaks,  he  wore  in  his  mouth  to  curb  his 
occasional  ferocity.  His  dress  was  well  adapted 
to  his  square-set  and  herculean  frame.  A  striped 
knit  undershirt,  close-fitting  striped  tights,  and  a 
few  spangles  set  off  his  figure ;  a  neat  Glengarry- 
cap  adorned  his  head.  On  it  was  displayed  the 
Heavystone  crest,  a  cock  regardant  on  a  dunghill 
or,  and  the  motto,  "  Devil  a  better ! " 

I  thought  of  Horatius  on  the  bridge,  of  Hector 
before  the  walls.  I  always  make  it  a  point  to 
think  of  something  classical  at  such  times. 

He  saw  me,  and  his  sternness  partly  relaxed. 
Something  like  a  smile  struggled  through  his  grim 
lineaments.  It  was  like  looking  on  the  Jungfrau 
after  having  seen  Mont  Blanc,  —  a  trifle,  only  a 
trifle  less  sublime  and  awful.  Eesting  his  hand 
lightly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  head-master,  who 
shuddered  and  collapsed  under  his  touch,  he  strode 
toward  me. 

His  walk  was  peculiar.  You  could  not  call  it  a 
stride.  It  was  like  the  "  crest-tossing  Bellero- 
phon,"  —  a  kind  of  prancing  gait.  Guy  Heavy- 
stone  pranced  toward  me. 

6*  I 


130 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

**Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  the  garden  gate, 
A-combing  his  milk-white  steed." 

It  was  the  winter  of  186-  when  I  next  met 
Guy  Heavystone.  He  had  left  the  University  and 
had  entered  the  76th  "Heavies."  "I  have  ex- 
changed the  gown  for  the  sword,  you  see,"  he  said, 
grasping  my  hand,  and  fracturing  the  bones  of  my 
little  finger,  as  he  shook  it. 

I  gazed  at  him  with  unmixed  admiration.  He 
was  squarer,  sterner,  and  in  every  way  smarter 
and  more  remarkable  than  ever.  I  began  to  feel 
toward  this  man  as  Phalaster  felt  towards  Phyr- 
gino,  as  somebody  must  have  felt  toward  Archidi- 
dasculus,  as  Boswell  felt  toward  Johnson. 

Come  into  my  den,"  he  said,  and  lifting  me 
gently  by  the  seat  of  my  pantaloons  he  carried  me 
up  stairs  and  deposited  me,  before  I  could  apolo- 
gize, on  the  sofa.  I  looked  around  the  room.  It 
was  a  bachelor's  apartment,  characteristically  fur- 
nished in  the  taste  of  the  proprietor.    A  few  clay- 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


131 


mores  and  battle-axes  were  ranged  against, the 
wall,  and  a  culverin,  captured  by  Sir  Ealph  Heavy- 
stone,  occupied  the  corner,  the  other  end  of  the 
room  being  taken  up  by  a  light  battery.  Foils, 
boxing-gloves,  saddles,  and  fishing-poles  lay  around 
carelessly.  A  small  pile  of  billets-doux  lay  upon  a 
silver  salver.  The  man  was  not  an  anchorite,  nor 
yet  a  Sir  Galahad. 

I  never  could  tell  what  Guy  thought  of  women. 

Poor  little  beasts,"  he  would  often  say  when  the 
conversation  turned  on  any  of  his  fresh  conquests. 
Then,  passing  his  hand  over  his  marble  brow,  the 
old  look  of  stern  fixedness  of  purpose  and  unflinch- 
ing severity  would  straighten  the  lines  of  his 
mouth,  and  he  would  mutter,  half  to  himself, 

S'death  !  " 

"  Come  with  me  to  Heavystone  Grange.  The 
Exmoor  Hounds  throw  off  to-morrow.  I'll  give 
you  a  mount,"  he  said,  as  he  amused  himself  by 
rolling  up  a  silver  candlestick  between  his  fingers. 
"  You  shall  have  Cleopatra.  But  stay,"  he  added, 
thoughtfully ;  "  now  T  remember,  I  ordered  Cleo- 
patra to  be  shot  this  morning." 

"  And  why  ?  "  I  queried. 


132 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


"  She  threw  her  rider  yesterday  and  fell  on 
him  —  " 

"  And  killed  him?" 

"  Xo.  That  's  the  reason  why  I  have  ordered 
her  to  be  shot.  I  keep  no  animals  that  are  not 
dangerous  —  I  should  add  —  deadly  !  "  He  hissed 
the  last  sentence  between  his  teeth,  and  a  gloomy 
frown  descended  over  his  calm  brow. 

I  affected  to  turn  over  the  tradesman's  bills  that 
lay  on  the  table,  for,  like  all  of  the  Heavystone  race, 
Guy  seldom  paid  cash,  and  said :  — 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  time  when  Leonidas  — 

"  0,  bother  Leonidas  and  your  classical  allusions. 
Come!" 

We  descended  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  III. 

**  He  carries  weight,  he  rides  a  race, 
'T  is  for  a  thousand  pound." 

"There  is  Flora  Billingsgate,  the  greatest  co- 
quette and  hardest  rider  in  the  country,"  said  my 
companion,  Ealph  Mortmain,  as  we  stood  upon 
Dingleby  Common  before  the  meet. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


133 


I  looked  up  and  beheld  Guy  Heavystone  bend- 
ing haughtily  over  the  saddle,  as  he  addressed  a 
beautiful  brunette.  She  was  indeed  a  splendidly 
groomed  and  high-spirited  woman.  We  were  near 
enough  to  overhear  the  following  conversation, 
which  any  high-toned  reader  will  recognize  as  the 
common  and  natural  expression  of  the  higher 
classes. 

"  When  Diana  takes  the  field  the  chase  is  not 
wholly  confined  to  objects  ferae  naturcel'  said  Guy, 
darting  a  significant  glance  at  his  companion. 
Flora  did  not  shrink  either  from  the  glance  or  the 
meaning  implied  in  the  sarcasm. 

"  If  I  were  looking  for  an  Endymion,  now  —  " 
she  said  archly,  as  she  playfully  cantered  over  a 
few  hounds  and  leaped  a  five-barred  gate. 

Guy  whispered  a  few  words,  inaudible  to  the  rest 
of  the  party,  and,  curvetting  slightly,  cleverly 
cleared  two  of  the  huntsmen  in  a  flying  leap,  gal- 
loped up  the  front  steps  of  the  mansion,  and  dash- 
ing at  full  speed  through  the  hall  leaped  through 
the  drawing-room  window  and  rejoined  me,  lan- 
guidly, on  the  lawn. 

"  Be  careful  of  Flora  Billingsgate,"  he  said  to  me, 


134 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


in  low  stern  tones,  while  his  pitiless  eye  shot  a 
baleful  fire.    "  Gardez  vous  !  " 

Gnothi  seauton,''  I  replied  calmly,  not  wishing 
to  appear  to  be  behind  him  in  perception  or  verbal 
felicity. 

Guy  started  off  in  high  spirits.  He  was  well 
carried.  He  and  the  first  whip,  a  ten-stone  man, 
were  head  and  head  at  the  last  fence,  while  the 
hounds  were  rolling  over  their  fox  a  hundred 
yards  farther  in  the  open. 

But  an  unexpected  circumstance  occurred.  Com- 
ing back,  his  chestnut  mare  refused  a  ten-foot  wall. 
She  reared  and  fell  backward.  Again  he  led  her 
up  to  it  lightly ;  again  she  refused,  falling  heavily 
from  the  coping.  Guy  started  to  his  feet.  The 
old  pitiless  fire  shone  in  his  eyes ;  the  old  stern 
look  settled  around  his  mouth.  Seizing  the  mare 
by  the  tail  and  mane  he  threw  her  over  the  wall. 
She  landed  twenty  feet  on  the  other  side,  erect 
and  trembling.  Lightly  leaping  the  same  obstacle 
himself,  he  remounted  her.  She  did  not  refuse 
the  wall  the  next  time. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


135 


CHAPTER  IV. 
**  He  holds  him  by  his  glittering  eye." 

Guy  was  in  the  North  of  Ireland,  cock-shooting. 
So  Ealph  Mortmain  told  me,  and  also  that  the 
match  between  Mary  Brandagee  and  Guy  had  been 
broken  off  by  Flora  Billingsgate.  "I  don't  like 
those  Billingsgates/'  said  Ealph,  "  they  're  a  bad 
stock.  Her  father,  Smithfield  de  Billingsgate,  had 
an  unpleasant  way  of  turning  up  the  knave  from 
the  bottom  of  the  pack.  But  nous  verrons ;  let 
us  go  and  see  Guy." 

The  next  morning  we  started  for  Fin-ma-Cours 
Crossing.  When  I  reached  the  shooting-box, 
where  Guy  was  entertaining  a  select  company  of 
friends.  Flora  Billingsgate  greeted  me  with  a  saucy 
smile. 

Guy  was  even  squarer  and  sterner  than  ever. 
His  gusts  of  passion  were  more  frequent,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  keep  an  able- 
bodied  servant  in  his  family.  His  present  retain- 
ers were  more  or  less  maimed  from  exposure  to  the 


136 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


.fury  of  their  master.  There  was  a  strange  cyn- 
icism; a  cutting  sarcasm  in  his  address,  piercing 
through  his  polished  manner.  I  thought  of  Ti- 
mon,  etc.,  etc. 

One  evening,  we  were  sitting  over  our  Chamber- 
tin,  after  a  hard  day's  work,  and  Guy  was  listlessly 
turning  over  some  letters,  when  suddenly  he  ut- 
tered a  cry.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  trumpeting  of 
a  wounded  elephant  ?    It  was  like  that. 

I  looked  at  him  with  consternation.  He  was 
glancing  at  a  letter  which  he  held  at  arm's  length, 
and  snorting,  as  it  were,  at  it  as  he  gazed.  The 
lower  part  of  his  face  was  stern,  but  not  as  rigid 
as  usual.  He  was  slowly  grinding  between  his 
teeth  the  fragments  of  the  glass  he  had  just  been 
drinking  from.  Suddenly  he  seized  one  of  his 
servants,  and,  forcing  the  wretch  upon  his  knees, 
exclaimed,  with  the  roar  of  a  tiger :  — 

"  Dog !  why  was  this  kept  from  me  ? " 

«  Why,  please,  sir.  Miss  Flora  said  as  how  it  was 
a  reconciliation  from  Miss  Brandagee,  and  it  was 
to  be  kept  from  you  where  you  would  not  be  likely 
to  see  it,  —  and  —  and  —  " 

"  Speak,  dog  !  and  you  —  " 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


137 


"  I  put  it  among  your  bills,  sir ! 

With  a  groan,  like  distant  thunder,  Guy  fell 
swooning  to  the  floor. 

He  soon  recovered,  for  the  next  moment  a  ser- 
vant came  rushing  into  the  room  with  the  informa- 
tion that  a  number  of  the  ingenuous  peasantry 
of  the  neighborhood  were  about  to  indulge  that 
evening  in  the  national  pastime  of  burning  a 
farm-house  and  shooting  a  landlord.  Guy  smiled 
a  fearful  smile,  without,  however,  altering  his  stern 
and  pitiless  expression. 

"  Let  them  come,''  he  said  calmly ;  "  I  feel  like 
entertaining  company." 

We  barricaded  the  doors  and  windows,  and  then 
chose  our  arms  from  the  armory.    Guy's  choice  ^ 
was  a  singular  one  :  it  was  a  landing  net  with  a 
long  handle,  and  a  sharp  cavalry  sabre. 

We  were  not  destined  to  remain  long  in  igno- 
rance of  its  use.  A  howl  was  heard  from  without, 
and  a  party  of  fifty  or  sixty  armed  men  precipi- 
tated themselves  against  the  door. 

Suddenly  the  window  opened.  With  the  rapid- 
ity of  lightning,  Guy  Heavystone  cast  the  net  over 
the  head  of  the  ringleader,  ejaculated  Hdbet!'^ 


138 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE. 


and  with  a  back  stroke  of  his  cavalry  sabre  sev^ 
ered  the  member  from  its  trunk,  and,  drawing  the 
net  back  again,  cast  the  gory  head  upon  the  floor, 
saying  quietly :  — 
"  One." 

Again  the  net  was  cast,  the  steel  flashed,  the  net 
was  withdrawn,  and  an  ominous  "  Two  ! "  accom- 
panied the  head  as  it  rolled  on  the  floor. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Pliny  says  of  the 
gladiator  ? "  said  Guy,  calmly  wiping  his  sabre. 
"  How  graphic  is  that  passage  commencing  '  Inter 
nos,  etc' "  The  sport  continued  until  the  heads  of 
twenty  desperadoes  had  been  gathered  in.  The 
rest  seemed  inclined  to  disperse.  Guy  incautious- 
*  ly  showed  himself  at  the  door ;  a  ringing  shot  was 
heard,  and  he  staggered  back,  pierced  through  the 
heart.  Grasping  the  door-post  in  the  last  uncon- 
scious throes  of  his  mighty  frame,  the  whole  side 
of  the  house  yielded  to  that  earthquake  tremor, 
and  we  had  barely  time  to  escape  before  the  whole 
building  fell  in  ruins.  I  thought  of  Samson,  the 
Giant  Judge,  etc.,  etc. ;  but  all  was  over. 

Guy  Heavystone  had  died  as  he  had  lived,  — 
hard. 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 

A  MVAL  OFFICER. 
By  captain   M-EEY— T,  R.  N. 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  father  was  a  north-country  surgeon.  He 
had  retired,  a  widower,  from  her  Majesty's  navy 
many  years  before,  and  had  a  small  practice  in  his 
native  village.  When  I  was  seven  years  old  he 
employed  me  to  carry  medicines  to  his  patients. 
Being  of  a  lively  disposition,  I  sometimes  amused 
myself,  during  my  daily  rounds,  by  mixing  the 
contents  of  the  different  phials.  Although  I  had 
no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  general  result  of  this 
practice  was  beneficial,  yet,  as  the  death  of  a  con- 
sumptive curate  followed  the  addition  of  a  strong 
mercurial  lotion  to  his  expectorant,  my  father  con- 
cluded to  withdraw  me  from  the  profession  and 
send  me  to  school. 

Grubbins,  the  schoolmaster,  was  a  tyrant,  and  it 


140  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


was  not  long  before  my  impetuous  and  self-willed 
nature  rebelled  against  his  authority.  I  soon  be- 
gan to  form  plans  of  revenge.  In  this  I  was  as- 
sisted by  Tom  Snaflfie,  —  a  schoolfellow.  One  day 
Tom  suggested :  — 

"  Suppose  we  blow  him  up.  I  Ve  got  two 
pounds  of  powder  ! " 

No,  that 's  too  noisy/'  I  replied. 

Tom  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  again  spoke :  — 
You  remember  how  you  flattened  out  the 
curate,  Pills  !    Could  n't  you  give  Grubbins  some- 
thing —  sopaething  to  make  him  leathery  sick  — 
eh?'' 

A  flash  of  inspiration  crossed  my  mind.  I  went 
to  the  shop  of  the  village  apothecary.  He  knew 
me ;  I  had  often  purchased  vitriol,  which  I  poured 
into  Grubbins's  inkstand  to  corrode  his  pens  and 
burn  up  his  coat-tail,  on  which  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  wiping  them.  I  boldly  asked  for  an 
ounce  of  chloroform.  The  young  apothecary 
winked  and  handed  me  the  bottle. 

It  was  Grubbins's  custom  to  throw  his  handker- 
chief over  his  head,  recline  in  his  chair  and  take 
a  short  nap  during  recess.    Watching  my  oppor- 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


141 


tunity,  as  he  dozed,  I  managed  to  slip  his  hand- 
kerchief from  his  face  and  substitute  my  own, 
moistened  with  chloroform.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
was  insensible.  Tom  and  I  then  quickly  shaved 
his  head,  beard,  and  eyebrows,  blackened  his  face 
with  a  mixture  of  vitriol  and  burnt  cork,  and 
fled.  There  was  a  row  and  scandal  the  next  day. 
My  father  always  excused  me  by  asserting  that 
Grubbins  had  got  drunk,  —  but  somehow  found  it 
convenient  to  procure  me  an  appointment  in  her 
Majesty's  navy  at  an  early  day. 


CHAPTER  II. 

An  official  letter,  with  the  Admiralty  seal,  in- 
formed me  that  I  was  expected  to  join  H.  M.  ship. 
Belcher,  Captain  Boltrope,  at  Portsmouth,  without 
delay.  In  a  few  days  I  presented  myself  to  a  tall, 
stern- visaged  man,  who  was  slowly  pacing  the  lee- 
ward side  of  the  quarter-deck.^  As  I  touched  my 
hat  he  eyed  me  sternly :  — 

"  So  ho  !  Another  young  suckling.  The  service 
is  going  to  the  devil.    Nothing  but  babes  in  the 


142  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


cockpit  and  grannies  in  the  board.  Boatswain's 
mate,  pass  the  word  for  Mr.  Cheek ! " 

Mr.  Cheek,  the  steward,  appeared  and  touched 
his  hat.  "Introduce  Mr.  Breezy  to  the  young 
gentlemen.    Stop  !    Where 's  Mr.  Swizzle  ? " 

"  At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"Where 's  Mr.  Lankey?" 

"  At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Briggs  ? " 

"Masthead,  too,  sir." 

"  And  the  rest  of  the  young  gentlemen  ? "  roared 
the  enraged  officer. 
"  All  masthead,  sir." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Captain  Boltrope,  as  he  smiled 
grimly,  "under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Breezy, 
you  had  better  go  to  the  masthead  too." 


CHAPTER  III. 

At  the  masthead  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
two  youngsters  of  about  my  own  age,  one  of  whom 
informed  me  that  he  had  been  there  three  hun- 
dred and  thirty-two  days  out  of  the  year. 


UR,  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.  143 


In  rough  weather,  when  the  old  cock  is  out  of 
sorts,  you  know,  we  never  come  down,"  added  a 
young  gentleman  of  nine  years,  with  a  dirk  nearly 
as  long  as  himself,  who  had  been  introduced  to  me 
as  Mr.  Briggs.  "  By  the  way.  Pills,"  he  continued, 
"  how  did  you  come  to  omit  giving  the  captain  a 
naval  salute  ? " 

"  Why,  I  touched  my  hat,"  I  said,  innocently. 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  n't  enough,  you  know.  That 
will  do  very  well  at  other  times.  He  expects 
the  naval  salute  when  you  first  come  on  board  — 
greeny ! " 

I  began  to  feel  alarmed,  and  begged  him  to 
explain. 

''Why,  you  see,  after  touching  your  hat,  you 
should  have  touched  him  lightly  with  your  fore- 
finger in  his  waistcoat,  so,  and  asked, '  How 's  his 
nib^  ? '  —  you  see  ? " 

"  How 's  his  nibs  ? "  I  repeated. 

"  Exactly.  He  would  have  drawn  back  a  little, 
and  then  you  should  have  repeated  the  salute 
remarking,  '  How  's  his  royal  nibs  ? '  asking 
cautiously  after  his  wife  and  family,  and  request- 
ing to  be  introduced  to  the  gunner's  daughter." 


144 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


"  The  gunner's  daughter  ?  " 
The  same ;  you  know  she  takes  care  of  us 
young  gentlemen ;  now  don't  forget,  Pillsy  ! " 

When  we  were  called  down  to  the  deck  I 
thought  it  a  good  chance  to  profit  by  this  instruc- 
tion. I  approached  Captain  Boltrope  and  repeated 
the  salute  without  conscientiously  omitting  a  single 
detail.  He  remained  for  a  moment,  livid  and 
speechless.    At  length  he  gasped  out :  — 

"  Boatswain's  mate  ? " 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  I  asked,  tremulously,  "I 
should  like  to  be  introduced  to  the  gunner's 
daughter ! " 

"  0,  very  good,  sir  ! "  screamed  Captain  Boltrope, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  absolutely  capering  about 
the  deck  with  rage.  0  d — n  you  !  Of  course 
you  shall !  0  ho !  the  gunner's  daughter !  0, 
h — 11 !  this  is  too  much  !  Boatswain's  mate  ! " 
Before  I  well  knew  where  I  was,  I  was  seized, 
borne  to  an  eight-pounder,  tied  upon  it  and 
flogged ! 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


145 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  we  sat  together  in  the  cockpit,  picking  the 
weevils  out  of  our  biscuit,  Briggs  consoled  me  for 
my  late  mishap,  adding  that  the  "  naval  salute,"  as 
a  custom,  seemed  just  then  to  be  honored  more  in 
the  breach  than  the  observance.  I  joined  in  the 
hilarity  occasioned  by  the  witticism,  and  in  a  few 
moments  we  were  all  friends.  Presently  Swizzle 
turned  to  me :  — 

"  We  have  been  just  planning  how  to  confiscate 
a  keg  of  claret,  which  Nips,  the  purser,  keeps  un- 
der his  bunk.  The  old  nipcheese  lies  there  drunk 
half  the  day,  and  there 's  no  getting  at  it." 

"  Let 's  get  beneath  the  state-room  and  bore 
through  the  deck,  and  so  tap  it,"  said  Lankey. 

The  proposition  was  received  with  a  shout  of 
applause.  A  long  half-inch  auger  and  bit  was 
procured  from  Chips,  the  carpenter's  mate,  and 
Swizzle,  after  a  careful  examination  of  the  timbers 
beneath  the  ward-room,  commenced  operations. 
The  auger  at  last  disappeared,  when  suddenly 
7  J 


146 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


there  was  a  slight  disturbance  on  the  deck  above. 
Swizzle  withdrew  the  auger  hurriedly  ;  from  its 
point  a  few  bright  red  drops  trickled. 

Huzza  !  send  her  up  again  ! "  cried  Lankey. 

The  auger  was  again  applied.  This  time  a 
shriek  was  heard  from  the  purser's  cabin.  In- 
stantly the  light  was  doused,  and  the  party 
retreated  hurriedly  to  the  cockpit.  A  sound  of 
snoring  was  heard  as  the  sentry  stuck  his  head 
into  the  door.  "All  right,  sir,"  he  replied  in 
answer  to  the  voice  of  the  officer  of  the  deck. 

The  next  morning  we  heard  that  Mps  was  in 
the  surgeon's  hands,  with  a  bad  wound  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  his  leg,  and  that  the  auger  had 
not  struck  claret 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Now,  Pills,  you  '11  have  a  chance  to  smell 
powder,"  said  Briggs  as  he  entered  the  cockpit 
and  buckled  around  his  waist  an  enormous  cut- 
lass.   "  We  have  just  sighted  a  French  ship." 

We  went  on  deck.    Captain  Boltrope  grinned 


MR.  MroSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


147 


as  we  touched  our  hats.  He  hated  the  purser. 
"  Come,  young  gentlemen,  if  you  're  boring  for 
French  claret,  yonder 's  a  good  quality.  Mind 
your  con,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  quarter- 
master, who  was  grinning. 

The  ship  was  already  cleared  for  action.  The 
men,  in  their  eagerness,  had  started  the  coffee 
from  the  tubs  and  filled  them  with  shot.  Pres- 
ently the  Frenchman  yawed,  and  a  shot  from  a 
long  thirty-two  came  skipping  over  the  water. 
It  killed  the  quartermaster  and  took  off  both  of 
Lankey's  legs.  ^'Tell  the  purser  our  account  is 
squared,"  said  the  dying  boy,  with  a  feeble 
smile. 

The  fight  raged  fiercely  for  two  hours.  I 
remember  killing  the  French  Admiral,  as  we 
boarded,  but  on  looking  around  for  Briggs,  after 
the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  I  was  intensely 
amused  at  witnessing  the  following  novel  sight: — - 

Briggs  had  pinned  the  French  captain  against 
the  mast  with  his  cutlass,  and  was  now  engaged, 
with  all  the  hilarity  of  youth,  in  pulling  the  cap- 
tain's coat-tails  between  his  legs,  in  imitation  of  a 
dancing-jack.    As  the  Frenchman  lifted  his  legs 


148 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


and  arms,  at  each  jerk  of  Briggs's,  I  could  not  help 
participating  in  the  general  mirth. 

"  You  young  devil,  what  are  you  doing  ? said 
a  stifled  voice  behind  me.  I  looked  up  and  beheld 
Captain  Boltrope,  endeavoring  to  calm  his  stern 
features,  but  the  twitching  around  his  mouth 
betrayed  his  intense  enjoyment  of  the  scene. 
"  Go  to  the  masthead  —  up  with  you,  sir ! "  he 
repeated  sternly  to  Briggs. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  coolly  preparing 
to  mount  the  shrouds.  Good  by,  Johnny  Cra- 
paud.  Humph ! "  he  added,  in  a  tone  intended 
for  my  ear,  "  a  pretty  way  to  treat  a  hero.  The 
service  is  going  to  the  devil!" 

I  thought  so  too. 


CHAPTER  VL 

We  were  ordered  to  the  West  Indies.  Al- 
though Captain  Boltrope's  manner  toward  me 
was  still  severe,  and  even  harsh,  I  understood 
that  my  name  had  been  favorably  mentioned  in 
the  despatches. 

Reader,  were  you  ever  at  J amaica  ?    If  so,  you 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


149 


remember  the  negresses,  the  oranges,  Port  Eoyal 
Tom  —  the  yellow  fever.  After  being  two  weeks 
at  the  station,  I  was  taken  sick  of  the  fever.  In  a 
month  I  was  delirious.  During  my  paroxysms, 
I  had  a  wild  distempered  dream  of  a  stern  face 
bending  anxiously  over  my  pillow,  a  rough  hand 
smoothing  my  hair,  and  a  kind  voice  saying:  — 

"  Bess  his  'ittle  heart !  Did  he  have  the  naugh- 
ty fever  ? "  This  face  seemed  again  changed  to 
the  well-known  stern  features  of  Captain  Boltrope. 

When  I  was  convalescent,  a  packet  edged  in 
black  was  put  in  my  hand.  It  contained  the 
news  of  my  father's  death,  and  a  sealed  letter 
which  he  had  requested  to  be  given  to  me  on 
his  decease.  I  opened  it  tremblingly.  It  read 
thus :  — 

My  dear  Boy :  —  I  regret  to  inform  you  that  in  all  prob- 
ability you  are  not  my  son.  Your  mother,  I  am  grieved  to 
say,  was  a  highly  improper  person.  Who  your  father  may 
be,  I  really  cannot  say,  but  perhaps  the  Honorable  Henry 
Boltrope,  Captain  R.  N.,  may  be  able  to  inform  you.  Cir- 
cumstances over  which  I  have  no  control  have  deferred 
this  important  disclosure. 

"Your  Stricken  Parent." 
And  so  Captain  Boltrope  was  my  father.  Heav- 


150 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


ens  !  Was  it  a  dream  ?  I  recalled  his  stern  man- 
ner, his  observant  eye,  his  ill-concealed  uneasiness 
when  in  my  presence.  I  longed  to  embrace  him. 
Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  rushed  in  my  scanty 
apparel  to  the  deck,  where  Captain  Boltrope  was 
just  then  engaged  in  receiving  the  Governor's 
wife  and  daughter.  The  ladies  shrieked ;  the 
youngest,  a  beautiful  girl,  blushed  deeply.  Heed- 
ing them  not,  I  sank  at  his  feet,  and,  embracing 
them,  cried :  — 
"My  father!" 

"  Chuck  him  overboard  ! "  roared  Captain  Bolt- 
rope. 

"  Stay,"  pleaded  the  soft  voice  of  Clara  Mait- 
land,  the  Governor's  daughter. 

"  Shave  his  head  !  he 's  a  wretched  lunatic  ! " 
continued  Captain  Boltrope,  while  his  voice  trem- 
bled with  excitement. 

"  No,  let  me  nurse  and  take  care  of  him,"  said 
the  lovely  girl,  blushing  as  she  spoke.  "  Mamma, 
can't  we  take  him  home  ?  " 

The  daughter's  pleading  was  not  without  effect. 
In  the  mean  time  I  had  fainted.  When  I  recov- 
ered my  senses  I  found  myself  in  Governor  Mait- 
\and's  mansion. 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


151 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  reader  will  guess  what  followed.  I  fell 
deeply  in  love  with  Clara  Maitland,  to  whom  I 
confided  the  secret  of  my  birth.  The  generous  girl 
asserted  that  she  had  detected  the  superiority  of 
my  manner  at  once.  We  plighted  our  troth,  and 
resolved  to  wait  upon  events. 

Briggs  called  to  see  me  a  few  days  afterward. 
He  said  that  the  purser  had  insulted  the  whole 
cockpit,  and  all  the  midshipmen  had  called  him 
out.  But  he  added  thoughtfully :  "  I  don't  see  how 
we  can  arrange  the  duel.  You  see  there  are  six 
of  us  to  fight  him." 

"  Very  easily/'  I  replied.  "  Let  your  feUows  all 
stand  in  a  row,  and  take  his  fire ;  that,  you  see, 
gives  him  six  chances  to  one,  and  he  must  be  a  bad 
shot  if  he  can't  hit  one  of  you  ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  see,  he  gets  a  volley  from  you  six,  and 
one  of  you  '11  be  certain  to  fetch  him." 

"  Exactly  "  ;  and  away  Briggs  went,  but  soon  re- 
turned to  say  that  the  purser  had  declined,  —  "  like 
a  d — d  coward,"  he  added. 


152 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 


But  the  news  of  the  sudden  and  serious  illness 
of  Captain  Boltrope  put  off  the  duel.  I  hastened 
to  his  bedside,  but  too  late,  —  an  hour  previous  he 
had  given  up  the  ghost. 

I  resolved  to  return  to  England.  I  made  known 
the  secret  of  my  birth,  and  exhibited  my  adopted 
father's  letter  to  Lady  Maitland,  who  at  once  sug- 
gested my  marriage  with  her  daughter,  before  I  re- 
turned to  claim  the  property.  "We  were  married, 
and  took  our  departure  next  day. 

I  made  no  delay  in  posting  at  once,  in  company 
with  my  wife  and  my  friend  Briggs,  to  my  native 
village.  Judge  of  my  horror  and  surprise  when 
my  late  adopted  father  came  out  of  his  shop  to 
welcome  me. 

"  Then  you  are  not  dead  ! "  I  gasped. 

"  N"o,  my  dear  boy." 

"  And  this  letter  ? " 

My  father  —  as  I  must  still  call  him  —  glanced  • 
on  the  paper,  and  pronounced  it  a  forgery.  Briggs 
roared  with  laughter.    I  turned  to  him  and  de- 
manded an  explanation. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see.  Greeny,  it 's  all  a  joke,  — 
a  midshipman's  joke  ! " 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.  153 


''But  —  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool.  You  Ve  got  a  good  wife,  — 
be  satisfied." 

I  turned  to  Clara,  and  was  satisfied.  Although 
Mrs.  Maitland  never  forgave  me,  the  jolly  old  Gov- 
ernor laughed  heartily  over  the  joke,  and  so  well 
used  his  influence  that  I  soon  became,  dear  reader. 
Admiral  Breezy,  K.  C.  B. 


JOHN  JENKINS; 

OR, 

THE  SMOKER  REFORMED. 
By  T.  S.  a— TH— R. 


CHAPTER  I. 

One  cigar  a  day  ! "  said  Judge  Boompointer. 
One  cigar  a  day  ! repeated  J ohn  J enkins,  as 
with  trepidation  he  dropped  his  half-consumed 
cigar  under  his  work-bench. 

"  One  cigar  a  day  is  three  cents  a  day,"  remarked 
Judge  Boompointer,  gravely ;  "  and  do  you  know, 
sir,  what  one  cigar  a  day,  or  three  cents  a  day, 
amounts  to  in  the  course  of  four  years  ?  " 

John  Jenkins,  in  his  boyhood,  had  attended  the 
village  school,  and  possessed  considerable  arithmet- 
ical ability.  Taking  up  a  shingle  which  lay  upon 
his  work-bench,  and  producing  a  piece  of  chalk, 
with  a  feeling  of  conscious  pride  he  made  an  ex- 
haustive calculation. 

"  Exactly  forty-three  dollars  and  eighty  cents," 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


155 


be  replied,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  heated 
brow,  while  his  face  flushed  with  honest  enthu- 
siasm. 

Well,  sir,  if  you  saved  three  cents  a  day,  in- 
stead of  wasting  it,  you  would  now  be  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  an  illustrated  Fam- 
ily Bible,  a  pew  in  the  church,  a  complete  set  of 
Patent  Office  Eeports,  a  hymn-book,  and  a  paid 
subscription  to  Arthur's  Home  Magazine,  which 
could  be  purchased  for  exactly  forty-three  dollars 
and  eighty  cents ;  and,"  added  the  Judge,  with 
increasing  sternness,  "  if  you  calculate  leap-year, 
which  you  seem  to  have  strangely  omitted,  you 
have  three  cents  more,  sir ;  three  cents  more ! 
What  would  that  buy  you,  sir  ? " 

"  A  cigar,"  suggested  John  Jenkins  ;  but,  color- 
ing again  deeply,  he  hid  his  face. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  sweet  smile  of 
benevolence  stealing  over  his  stern  features  ;  "  prop- 
erly invested,  it  would  buy  you  that  which  passeth 
all  price.  Dropped  into  the  missionary-box,  who 
can  tell  what  heathen,  now  idly  and  joyously  wan- 
toning in  nakedness  and  sin,  might  be  brought 
to  a  sense  of  his  miserable  condition,  and  made. 


156 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


through  that  three  cents,  to  feel  the  torments  of 
the  wicked  ? " 

With  these  words  the  Judge  retired,  leaving 
John  Jenkins  buried  in  profound  thought.  "  Three 
cents  a  day,"  he  muttered.  "  In  forty  years  I  might 
be  worth  four  hundred  and  thirty-eight  dollars  and 
ten  cents,  —  and  then  I  might  marry  Mary.  Ah, 
Mary  ! "  The  young  carpenter  sighed,  and,  drawing 
a  twenty-five  cent  daguerreotype  from  his  vest- 
pocket,  gazed  long  and  fervidly  upon  the  features 
of  a  young  girl  in  book  muslin  and  a  coral  neck- 
lace. Then,  with  a  resolute  expression,  he  care- 
fully locked  the  door  of  his  workshop  and  de- 
parted. 

Alas  !  his  good  resolutions  were  too  late.  We 
trifle  with  the  tide  of  fortune  which  too  often  nips 
us  in  the  bud  and  casts  the  dark  shadow  of  mis- 
fortune over  the  bright  lexicon  of  youth !  That 
night  the  half-consumed  fragment  of  John  Jen- 
kins's cigar  set  fire  to  his  workshop  and  burned 
it  up,  together  with  all  his  tools  and  materials. 
There  was  no  insurance. 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


157 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  DOWNWARD  PATH. 

Then  you  still  persist  in  marrying  John  Jen- 
kins?" queried  Judge  Boompointer,  as  he  play- 
fully, with  paternal  familiarity,  lifted  the  golden 
curls  of  the  village  belle,  Mary  Jones. 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  fair  young  girl,  in  a  low 
voice,  that  resembled  rock  candy  in  its  saccharine 
firmness,  —  "I  do.  He  has  promised  to  reform. 
Since  he  lost  all  his  property  by  fire  — " 

"  The  result  of  his  pernicious  habit,  though  he 
illogically  persists  in  charging  it  to  me,"  inter- 
rupted the  Judge. 

"  Since  then,"  continued  the  young  girl,  "  he  has 
endeavored  to  break  himself  of  the  habit.  He 
tells  me  that  he  has  substituted  the  stalks  of  the 
Indian  ratan,  the  outer  part  of  a  leguminous  plant 
called  the  smoking-bean,  and  the  fragmentary  and 
unconsumed  remainder  of  cigars  which  occur  at 
rare  and  uncertain  intervals  along  the  road,  which, 
as  he  informs  me,  though  deficient  in  quality  and 


158 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


strength,  are  comparatively  inexpensive."  And, 
blushing  at  her  own  eloquence,  the  young  girl  hid 
her  curls  on  the  Judge's  arm. 

"Poor  thing!"  muttered  Judge  Boompointer. 
"Dare  I  tell  her  all?   Yet  I  must." 

"  I  shall  cling  to  him,"  continued  the  young  girl, 
rising  with  her  theme,  "  as  the  young  vine  clings 
to  some  hoary  ruin.  Nay,  nay,  chide  me  not, 
Judge  Boompointer.    I  will  marry  John  J enkins  ! " 

The  Judge  was  evidently  affected.  Seating 
himself  at  the  table,  he  wrote  a  few  lines  hur- 
riedly upon  a  piece  of  paper,  which  he  folded  and 
placed  in  the  fingers  of  the  destined  bride  of  John 
Jenkins. 

"  Mary  Jones,"  said  the  Judge,  with  impressive 
earnestness, "  take  this  trifle  as  a  wedding  gift  from 
one  who  respects  your  fidelity  and  truthfulness. 
At  the  altar  let  it  be  a  reminder  of  me."  And 
covering  his  face  hastily  with  a  handkerchief,  the 
stern  and  iron-willed  man  left  the  room.  As  the 
door  closed,  Mary  unfolded  the  paper.  It  was  an 
order  on  the  corner  grocery  for  three  yards  of 
flannel,  a  paper  of  needles,  four  pounds  of  soap, 
one  pound  of  starch,  and  two  boxes  of  matches ! 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


159 


"Noble  and  thoughtful  man!"  was  all  Mary- 
Jones  could  exclaim,  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

^  ^  ^1 

The  bells  of  Cloverdale  are  ringing  merrily.  It 
is  a  wedding.  "  How  beautiful  they  look ! "  is  the 
exclamation  that  passes  from  lip  to  lip,  as  Mary 
Jones,  leaning  timidly  on  the  arm  of  John  Jen- 
kins, enters  the  church.  But  the  bride  is  agitated, 
and  the  bridegroom  betrays  a  feverish  nervousness. 
As  they  stand  in  the  vestibule,  John  Jenkins 
fumbles  earnestly  in  his  vest-pocket.  Can  it  be 
the  ring  he  is  anxious  about  ?  No.  He  draws  a 
small  brown  substance  from  his  pocket,  and  biting 
off  a  piece,  hastily  replaces  the  fragment  and 
gazes  furtively  around.  Surely  no  one  saw  him  ? 
Alas  !  the  eyes  of  two  of  that  wedding  party  saw 
the  fatal  act.  Judge  Boompointer  shook  his  head 
sternly.  Mary  J  ones  sighed  and  breathed  a  silent 
prayer.    Her  husband  chewed  ! 


160 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


CHAPTER  III.  AND  LAST. 

"What  !  more  bread  ? said  John  Jenkinn  gruff- 
ly. "  You  're  always  asking  for  money  for  bread. 
D — nation !  Do  you  want  to  ruin  me  by  your  ex- 
travagance ? and  as  he  uttered  these  words  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  a  pipe, 
and  a  paper  of  tobacco.  Emptying  the  first  at  a 
draught,  he  threw  the  empty  bottle  at  the  head  of 
his  eldest  boy,  a  youth  of  twelve  summers.  The 
missile  struck  the  child  full  in  the  temple,  and 
stretched  him  a  lifeless  corpse.  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
whom  the  reader  will  hardly  recognize  as  the  once 
gay  and  beautiful  Mary  Jones,  raised  the  dead 
body  of  her  son  in  her  arms,  and  carefully  placing 
the  unfortunate  youth  beside  the  pump  in  the 
back  yard,  returned  with  saddened  step  to  the 
house.  At  another  time,  and  in  brighter  days,  she 
might  have  wept  at  the  occurrence.  She  was  past 
tears  now. 

"  Father,  your  conduct  is  reprehensible ! "  said 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


161 


little  Harrison  Jenkins,  the  youngest  boy.  "  Where 
do  you  expect  to  go  when  you  die  ? " 

"  Ah  ! "  said  John  Jenkins,  fiercely ;  "  this  comes 
of  giving  children  a  liberal  education ;  this  is  the 
result  of  Sabbath  schools.    Down,  viper  ! " 

A  tumbler  thrown  from  the  same  parental  fist 
laid  out  the  youthful  Harrison  cold.  The  four 
other  children  had,  in  the  mean  time,  gathered 
around  the  table  with  anxious  expectancy.  With 
a  chuckle,  the  now  changed  and  brutal  John  Jen- 
kins produced  four  pipes,  and,  filling  them  with 
tobacco,  handed  one  to  each  of  his  offspring  and 
bade  them  smoke.  "  It  's  better  than  bread ! " 
laughed  the  wretch  hoarsely. 

Mary  Jenkins,  though  of  a  patient  nature,  felt 
it  her  duty  now  to  speak.  "  I  have  borne  much, 
John  Jenkins,"  she  said.  "  But  I  prefer  that  the 
children  should  not  smoke.  It  is  an  unclean  habit, 
and  soils  their  clothes.  I  ask  this  as  a  special 
favor ! " 

John  Jenkins  hesitated,  —  the  pangs  of  remorse 
began  to  seize  him. 

"Promise  me  this,  John!"  urged  Mary  upon 
her  knees. 

K 


162 


JOHN  JENKINS. 


I  promise  ! "  reluctantly  answered  John. 
"And  you  will  put  the  money  in  a  savings- 
bank?" 

"I  will/'  repeated  her  husband;  "and  /'II  give 
up  smoking,  too.'* 

"  'T  is  well,  John  Jenkins ! "  said  Judge  Boom- 
pointer,  appearing  suddenly  from  behind  the  door, 
where  he  had  been  concealed  during  this  inter- 
view. "  Nobly  said !  my  man.  Cheer  up  !  I  will 
see  that  the  children  are  decently  buried."  The 
husband  and  wife  fell  into  each  other's  arms.  And 
Judge  Boompointer,  gazing  upon  the  affecting 
spectacle,  burst  into  tears. 

From  that  day  John  Jenkins  was  an  altered 
mm. 


NO  TITLE. 

Bt  W— LK— e  c— ll— ns. 


PEOLOGUE. 

The  foUowing  advertisement  appeared  in  the 
"Times"  of  the  17th  of  June,  1845:  — 

WANTED.  —  A  few  young  men  for  a  light  genteel  employ- 
ment.   Address  J.  W.,  P.  0. 

In  the  same  paper,  of  same  date,  in  another 
column :  — 

TO  LET.  —  That  commodious  and  elegant  family  mansion, 
No.  27  Limehouse  Koad,  Pultneyville,  will  be  rented  low  to 
a  respectable  tenant  if  applied  for  immediately,  the  family  being 
about  to  remove  to  the  continent. 

Under  the  local  intelligence,  in  another  col- 
unm :  — 

Missing.  —  An  unknown  elderly  gentleman  a  week  ago  left 
his  lodgings  in  the  Kent  Eoad,  since  which  nothing  has  been 
heard  of  him.  He  left  no  trace  of  his  identity  except  a  port- 
manteau containing  a  couple  of  shirts  marked  "209,  Ward." 

To  find  the  connection  between  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  the  elderly  gentleman  and  the 
anonymous  communication,  the  relevancy  of  both 


164  NO  TITLE. 

these  incidents  to  the  letting  of  a  commodious 
family  mansion,  and  the  dead  secret  involved  in 
the  three  occurrences,  is  the  task  of  the  writer 
of  this  history. 

A  slim  young  man  with  spectacles,  a  large  hat, 
drab  gaiters,  and  a  note-book,  sat  late  that  night 
with  a  copy  of  the  "Times"  before  him,  and  a 
pencil  which  he  rattled  nervously  between  his 
teeth  in  the  coffee-room  of  the  "Blue  Dragon." 


CHAPTER  I. 

MARY  JONES's  NARRATIVE. 

I  AM  upper  housemaid  to  the  family  that  live 
at  No.  27  Limehouse  Eoad,  Pultneyville.  I  have 
been  requested  by  Mr.  Wilkey  CoUings,  which  I 
takes  the  liberty  of  here  stating  is  a  gentleman 
born  and  bred,  and  has  some  consideration  for  the 
feelings  of  servants,  and  is  not  above  rewarding 
them  for  their  trouble,  which  is  more  than  you 
can  say  for  some  who  ask  questions  and  gets  short 
answers  enough,  gracious  knows,  to  tell  what  I 
know  about  them.    I  have  been  requested  to  tell 


NO  TITLE. 


165 


my  story  in  my  own  langwidge,  though,  being  no 
schollard,  mind  cannot  conceive.  I  think  my 
master  is  a  brute.  Do  not  know  that  he  has  ever 
attempted  to  poison  my  missus,  —  which  is  *too 
good  for  him,  and  how  she  ever  came  to  marry 
him,  heart  only  can  tell,  —  but  believe  him  to  be 
capable  of  any  such  hatrosity.  Have  heard  him 
swear  dreadful  because  of  not  having  his  shaving- 
water  at  nine  o'clock  precisely.  Do  not  know 
whether  he  ever  forged  a  will  or  tried  to  get  my 
missus'  property,  although,  not  having  confidence 
in  the  man,  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  had  done 
so.  Believe  that  there  was  always  something  mys- 
terious in  his  conduct.  Eemember  distinctly  how 
the  family  left  home  to  go  abroad.  Was  putting 
up  my  back  hair,  last  Saturday  morning,  when  I 
heard  a  ring.  Says  cook,  "  That 's  missus'  bell,  and 
mind  you  hurry  or  the  master  'ill  know  why." 
Says  I,  "  Humbly  thanking  you,  mem,  but  taking 
advice  of  them  as  is  competent  to  give  it,  I  '11  take 
my  time."  Found  missus  dressing  herself  and 
master  growling  as  usual.  Says  missus,  quite 
calm  and  easy  like,  "Mary,  we  begin  to  pack 
to-day."    "  What  for,  mem  ? "  says  T,  taken  aback. 


166 


NO  TITLE. 


"  What  *s  that  hussy  asking  ? "  says  master  from 
the  bedclothes  quite  savage  like.  For  the  Con- 
tinent— Italy/'  says  missus — "  Can  you  go  Mary  ? 
Her  voice  was  quite  gentle  and  saintlike,  but  I 
knew  the  struggle  it  cost,  and  says  I,  "  With  you 
mem,  to  India's  torrid  clime,  if  required,  but  with 
African  Gorillas,"  says  I,  looking  toward  the  bed, 
"  never."  "  Leave  the  room,"  says  master,  starting 
up  and  catching  of  his  bootjack.  "  Why  Charles  ! " 
says  missus,  "  how  you  talk ! "  affecting  surprise. 
"  Do  go  Mary,"  says  she,  slipping  a  half-crown  into 
my  hand.  I  left  the  room  scorning  to  take  notice 
of  the  odious  wretch's  conduct. 

Cannot  say  whether  my  master  and  missus  were 
ever  legally  married.  What  with  the  dreadful 
state  of  morals  nowadays  and  them  stories  in 
the  circulating  libraries,  innocent  girls  don't  know 
into  what  society  they  might  be  obliged  to  take 
situations.  Never  saw  missus'  marriage  certificate, 
though  I  have  quite  accidental-like  looked  in  her 
desk  when  open,  and  would  have  seen  it.  Do  not 
know  of  any  lovers  missus  might  have  had.  Be- 
lieve she  had  a  liking  for  John  Thomas,  footman, 
for  she  was  always  spiteful-like — poor  lady — ' 


NO  TITLE. 


167 


when  we  were  together  —  though  there  was  noth- 
ing between  ns,  as  Cook  well  knows,  and  dare  not 
deny,  and  missus  need  n't  have  been  jealous. 
Have  never  seen  arsenic  or  Prussian  acid  in  any 
of  the  private  drawers  —  but  have  seen  paregoric 
and  camphor.  One  of  my  master's  friends  was  a 
Count  Moscow,  a  Eussian  papist  —  which  I  de- 
tested. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SLIM  YOUNG  MAN's  STORY. 

I  AM  by  profession  a  reporter,  and  writer  for  thft 
press.  I  live  at  Pultneyville.  I  have  always  hacj 
a  passion  for  the  marvellous,  and  have  been  dis- 
tinguished for  my  facility  in  tracing  out  mysteries, 
and  solving  enigmatical  occurrences.  On  the  night 
of  the  17th  June,  1845, 1  left  my  ofl&ce  and  walked 
homeward.  The  night  was  bright  and  starlight.  I 
was  revolving  in  my  mind  the  words  of  a  singular 
item  I  had  just  read  in  the  "  Times."  I  had  reached 
the  darkest  portion  of  the  road,  and  found  myself 
mechanically  repeating :    An  elderly  gentleman  a 


168 


NO  TITLE. 


week  ago  left  his  lodgings  on  the  Kent  Eoad," 
when  suddenly  I  heard  a  step  behind  me. 

I  turned  quickly,  with  an  expression  of  horror 
in  my  face,  and  by  the  light  of  the  newly  risen 
moon  beheld  an  elderly  gentleman,  with  green  cot- 
ton umbrella,  approaching  me.  His  hair,  which 
was  snow  white,  was  parted  over  a  broad,  open 
forehead.  The  expression  of  his  face,  which  was 
slightly  flushed,  was  that  of  amiability  verging 
almost  upon  imbecility.  There  was  a  strange,  in- 
quiring look  about  the  widely  opened  mild  blue 
eye,  —  a  look  that  might  have  been  intensified  to 
insanity,  or  modified  to  idiocy.  As  he  passed  me, 
he  paused  and  partly  turned  his  face,  with  a  ges- 
ture of  inquiry.  I  see  him  still,  his  white  locks 
blowing  in  the  evening  breeze,  his  hat  a  little  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  figure  painted  in  re- 
lief  against  the  dark  blue  sky. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  mild  eye  full  upon  me. 
A  weak  smile  played  about  his  thin  lips.  In  a 
voice  which  had  something  of  the  tremulousness 
of  age  and  the  self-satisfied  chuckle  of  imbecility 
in  it,  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  rising  moon, "  Why  ? 
—  HuBh!"  . 


NO  TITLE. 


169 


He  had  dodged  behind  me,  and  appeared  to  be 
looking  anxiously  down  the  road.  I  could  feel  his 
aged  frame  shaking  .with  terror  as  he  laid  his  thin 
hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  faced  me  in  the 
direction  of  the  supposed  danger. 

"  Hush  !  did  you  not  hear  them  coming  ? " 

I  listened ;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  sough- 
ing of  the  roadside  trees  in  the  evening  wind.  I 
endeavored  to  reassure  him,  with  such  success  that 
in  a  few  moments  the  old  weak  smile  appeared  on 
his  benevolent  face. 

"  Why  ?  —  "  But  the  look  of  interrogation  was 
succeeded  by  a  hopeless  blankness. 

"  Why  !  "  I  repeated  with  assuring  accents. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  a  gleam  of  intelligence  flicker- 
ing over  his  face,  "  is  yonder  moon,  as  she  sails  in 
the  blue  empyrean,  casting  a  flood  of  light  o'er 
hill  and  dale,  like  —  Why,"  he  repeated,  with  a 
feeble  smile,  "  is  yonder  moon,  as  she  sails  in  the 
blue  empyrean  - —  "  He  hesitated,  —  stammered, 
—  and  gazed  at  me  hopelessly,  with  the  tears  drip- 
ping from  his  moist  and  widely  opened  eyes. 

I  took  his  hand  kindly  in  my  own.    "  Casting  a 


8 


170 


NO  TITLE. 


shadow  o*er  hill  and  dale,"  I  repeated  quietly,  lead- 
ing him  up  the  subject,  "like  —    Come,  now." 

Ah  ! "  he  said,  pressing  my  hand  tremulously, 
"  you  know  it  ? " 

I  do.  Why  is  it  like  —  the  —  eh  —  the  com- 
modious mansion  on  the  Limehouse  Eoad  ?  " 

A  blank  stare  only  followed.  He  shook  his  head 
sadly.  "  Like  the  young  men  wanted  for  a  light, 
genteel  employment  ? " 

He  wagged  his  feeble  old  head  cunningly. 

"  Or,  Mr.  Ward,"  I  said,  with  bold  confidence, 
"  like  the  mysterious  disappearance  from  the  Kent 
Eoad  ? " 

The  moment  was  full  of  suspense.    He  did  not 
seem  to  hear  me.    Suddenly  he  turned. 
"Ha!" 

I  darted  forward.  But  he  had  vanished  in  the 
darkness. 


NO  TITLE. 


in 


CHAPTER  III. 

NO.  27  LIMEHOUSE  ROAD. 

It  was  a  hot  midsummer  evening.  Limehouse 
Eoad  was  deserted  save  by  dust  and  a  few  rattling 
butchers'  carts,  and  the  bell  of  the  mufi&n  and 
crumpet  man.  A  commodious  mansion,  which 
stood  on  the  right  of  the  road  as  you  enter  Pult- 
neyville,  surrounded  by  stately  poplars  and  a  high 
fence  surmounted  by  a  chevaux  de  frise  of  broken 
glass,  looked  to  the  passing  and  footsore  pedestrian 
like  the  genius  of  seclusion  and  solitude.  A  bill 
announcing  in  the  usual  terms  that  the  house  was 
to  let,  hung  from  the  bell  at  the  servants'  entrance. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  closed,  and  the  long 
shadows  of  the  poplars  stretched  across  the  road, 
a  man  carrying  a  small  kettle  stopped  and  gazed, 
first  at  the  bill  and  then  at  the  house.  When  he 
had  reached  the  corner  of  the  fence,  he  again 
stopped  and  looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the 
road.  Apparently  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his 
scrutiny,  he  deliberately  sat  himself  down  in  the 


172 


NO  TITLE. 


dark  shadow  of  the  fence,  and  at  once  busied  him- 
self in  some  employment,  so  well  concealed  as  to 
be  invisible  to  the  gaze  of  passers-by.  At  the  end 
of  an  hour  he  retired  cautiously. 

But  not  altogether  unseen.  A  slim  young  man, 
with  spectacles  and  note-book,  stepped  from  be- 
hind a  tree  as  the  retreating  figure  of  the  intruder 
was  lost  in  the  twilight,  and  transferred  from  the 
fence  to  his  note-book  the  freshly  stencilled  in- 
scription, "  S  —  T  —  1860  —  X." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COUNT  Moscow's  NARRATIVE. 

I  AM  a  foreigner.  Observe  !  To  be  a  foreigner 
in  England  is  to  be  mysterious,  suspicious,  intrigu- 
ing. M.  Collins  has  requested  the  history  of  my 
complicity  with  certain  occurrences.  It  is  noth- 
ing, bah !  absolutely  nothing. 

I  write  with  ease  and  fluency.  Why  should  I 
not  write  ?  Tra  la  la  !  I  am  what  you  English 
call  corpulent.  Ha,  ha  !  I  am  a  pupil  of  Macchia- 
velli.    I  find  it  much  better  to  disbelieve  every- 


NO  TITLE. 


173 


thing,  and  to  approach  my  subject  and  wishes 
circuitously,  than  in  a  direct  manner.  You  have 
observed  that  playful  animal,  the  cat.  Call  it, 
and  it  does  not  come  to  you  directly,  but  rubs 
itself  against  all  the  furniture  in  the  room,  and 
reaches  you  finally  —  and  scratches.  Ah,  ha, 
scratches !  I  am  of  the  feline  species.  People 
call  me  a  villain  —  bah  ! 

I  know  the  family,  living  No.  27  Limehouse 
Eoad.  I  respect  the  gentleman,  —  a  fine,  burly 
specimen  of  your  Englishman,  —  and  madame, 
charming,  ravishing,  delightful.  When  it  became 
known  to  me  that  they  designed  to  let  their 
delightful  residence,  and  visit  foreign  shores,  I 
at  once  called  upon  them.  I  kissed  the  hand 
of  madame.  I  embraced  the  great  Englishman. 
Madame  blushed  slightly.  The  great  Englishman 
shook  my  hand  like  a  mastiff. 

I  began  in  that  dexterous,  insinuating  manner, 
of  which  I  am  truly  proud.  I  thought  madame 
was  ill.  Ah,  no.  A  change,  then,  was  all  that 
was  required.  I  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  sang. 
In  a  few  minutes  madame  retired.  I  was  alone 
with  my  friend. 


174 


NO  TITLE. 


Seizing  his  hand,  I  began  with  every  demon- 
stration of  courteous  sympathy.  I  do  not  repeat 
my  words,  for  my  intention  was  conveyed  more  in 
accent,  emphasis,  and  manner,  than  speech.  I 
hinted  to  him  that  he  had  another  wife  living. 
I  suggested  that  this  was  balanced  —  ha !  —  by 
his  wife's  lover.  That,  possibly,  he  wished  to  fly  ; 
hence  the  letting  of  his  delightful  mansion.  That 
he  regularly  and  systematically  beat  his  wife  in 
the  English  manner,  and  that  she  repeatedly  de- 
ceived me.  I  talked  of  hope,  of  consolation,  of 
remedy.  I  carelessly  produced  a  bottle  of  strych- 
nine and  a  small  vial  of  stramonium  from  my 
pocket,  and  enlarged  on  the  efficiency  of  drugs. 
His  face,  which  had  gradually  become  convulsed, 
suddenly  became  fixed  with  a  frightful  expression. 
He  started  to  his  feet,  and  roared :  You  d — d 
Frenchman ! " 

I  instantly  changed  my  tactics,  and  endeavored 
to  embrace  him.  He  kicked  me  twice,  violently. 
I  begged  permission  to  kiss  madame's  hand.  He 
replied  by  throwing  me  down  stairs. 

I  am  in  bed  with  my  head  bound  up,  and  beef- 
steaks upon  my  eyes,  but  still  confident  and  buoy- 


NO  TITLE. 


175 


ant.  I  have  not  lost  faith  in  Macchiavelli.  Tra 
la  la !  as  they  sing  in  the  opera.  I  kiss  every- 
body's hands. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DR.  DIGGS'S  STATEMENT. 

My  name  is  David  Diggs.  I  am  a  surgeon,  liv- 
ing at  No.  9  Tottenham  Court.  On  the  15th  of 
June,  1854,  I  was  called  to  see  an  elderly  gentle- 
man lodging  on  the  Kent  Eoad.  Found  him 
highly  excited,  with  strong  febrile  symptoms, 
pulse  120,  increasing.  Eepeated  incoherently 
what  I  judged  to  be  the  popular  form  of  a  co- 
nundrum. On  closer  examination  found  acute 
hydrocephalus  and  both  lobes  of  the  brain  rapidly 
filling  with  water.  In  consultation  with  an  emi- 
nent phrenologist,  it  was  further  discovered  that 
all  the  organs  were  more  or  less  obliterated,  except 
that  of  Comparison.  Hence  the  patient  was  en- 
abled to  only  distinguish  the  most  common  points 
of  resemblance  between  objects,  without  drawing 
upon  other  faculties,  such  as  Ideality  or  Language, 


176 


NO  TITLE. 


for  assistance.  Later  in  the  day  found  him  sink- 
ing,—  being  evidently  unable  to  carry  the  most 
ordinary  conundrum  to  a  successful  issue.  Exhib- 
ited Tinct.  Val.,  Ext.  Opii,  and  Camphor,  and  pre- 
scribed quiet  and  emollients.  On  the  17th  the 
patient  was  missing. 


CHAPTER  LAST. 

STATEMENT  OF  THE  PUBLISHER. 

On  the  18th  of  June,  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  left  a 
^  roll  of  manuscript  with  us  for  publication,  without 
title  or  direction,  since  which  time  he  has  not 
been  heard  from.  In  spite  of  the  care  of  the 
proof-readers,  and  valuable  literary  assistance,  it 
is  feared  that  the  continuity  of  the  story  has  been 
destroyed  by  some  accidental  misplacing  of  chap- 
ters during  its  progress.  How  and  what  chapters 
are  so  misplaced,  the  publisher  leaves  to  an  indul- 
gent public  to  discover. 


BEING  A  NOVEL  IN  THE  FRENCH  PARAGRAPHIC  STYLE. 


—  Mademoiselle,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  love 
you. 

—  You  who  read  these  pages.  You  who  turn 
your  burning  eyes  upon  these  words  —  words  that 
I  trace —  Ah,  Heaven!  the  thought  maddens 
me. 

—  I  will  be  calm.  I  will  imitate  the  reserve  of 
the  festive  Englishman,  who  wears  a  spotted  hand- 
kerchief which  he  calls  a  Belchio,  who  eats  hiftehy 
and  caresses  a  bulldog.  I  will  subdue  myself  like 
him. 

—  Ha  !  Poto-beer  !   All  right —  Goddam  ! 

—  Or,  I  will  conduct  myself  as  the  free-born 
American  —  the  gay  Brother  Jonathan  !    I  will 

'hittle  me  a  stick.    I  will  whistle  to  myself 

8*  L 


178 


N  N. 


"  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  forget  my  passion  in  exces- 
sive expectoration. 

—  Hoho  !  —  wake  snakes  and  walk  chalks. 


The  world  is  divided  into  two  great  divisions,  — 
Paris  and  the  provinces.  There  is  but  one  Paris. 
There  are  several  provinces,  among  which  may  be 
numbered  England,  America,  Eussia,  and  Italy. 

N  N.  was  a  Parisian. 

But  N"  N.  did  not  live  in  Paris.  Drop  a  Paris- 
ian in  the  provinces,  and  you  drop  a  part  of  Paris 
with  him.  Drop  him  in  Senegambia,  and  in  three 
days  he  will  give  you  an  omelette  soufflee,  or  a  pdte 
de  foie  gras,  served  by  the  neatest  of  Senegambian 
filles,  whom  he  will  call  Mademoiselle.  In  three 
weeks  he  will  give  you  an  opera. 

N  N.  was  not  dropped  in  Senegambia,  but  in 
San  Francisco,  —  quite  as  awkward. 

They  find  gold  in  San  Francisco,  but  they  don't 
understand  gilding. 

N  N".  existed  three  years  in  this  place.  He  be- 
came bald  on  the  top  of  his  head,  as  all  Parisians 
do.  Look  down  from  your  box  at  the  Opera 
Comique,  Mademoiselle,  and  coimt  the  bald  crowns 


N  N. 


179 


of  the  fast  young  men  in  the  pit.  Ah  —  you 
tremble !  They  show  where  the  arrows  of  love 
have  struck  and  glanced  off. 

N  was  also  near-sighted,  as  all  Parisians 
finally  become.  This  is  a  gallant  provision  of  Na- 
ture to  spare  them  the  mortification  of  observing 
that  their  lady  friends  grow  old.  After  a  certain 
age  every  woman  is  handsome  to  a  Parisian. 

One  day,  N  K  was  walking  down  Washington 
street.    Suddenly  he  stopped. 

He  was  standing  before  the  door  of  a  mantua- 
maker.  Beside  the  counter,  at  the  farther  extrem- 
ity of  the  shop,  stood  a  young  and  elegantly  formed 
woman.  Her  face  was  turned  from  N  N.  He 
entered.  With  a  plausible  excuse,  and  seeming  in- 
difference, he  gracefully  opened  conversation  with 
the  mantuamaker  as  only  a  Parisian  can.  But  he 
had  to  deal  with  a  Parisian.  His  attempts  to  view 
the  features  of  the  fair  stranger  by  the  counter  were 
deftly  combated  by  the  shop-woman.  He  was 
obliged  to  retire. 

N  N.  went  home  and  lost  his  appetite.  He  was 
haunted  by  the  elegant  basque  and  graceful  shoul- 
ders of  the  fair  unknown,  during  the  whole  night. 


180 


N  N. 


The  next  day  he  sauntered  by  the  mantua- 
maker.  Ah  !  Heavens  !  A  thrill  ran  through  his 
frame,  and  his  fingers  tingled  with  a  delicious  elec- 
tricity. The  fair  inconnue  was  there  !  He  raised 
his  hat  gracefully.  He  was  not  certain,  but  he 
thought  that  a  slight  motion  of  her  faultless  bon- 
net betrayed  recognition.  He  would  have  wildly 
darted  into  the  shop,' but  just  then  the  figure  of 
the  mantuamaker  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

—  Did  Monsieur  wish  anything  ? 

Misfortune  !  Desperation.  N  N".  purchased  a 
bottle  of  Prussic  acid,  a  sack  of  charcoal,  and  a 
quire  of  pink  note-paper,  and  returned  home.  He 
wrote  a  letter  of  farewell  to  the  closely  fitting 
basque,  and  opened  the  bottle  of  Prussic  acid. 

Some  one  knocked  at  his  door.  It  was  a  China- 
man, with  his  weekly  linen. 

These  Chinese  are  docile,  but  not  intelligent. 
They  are  ingenious,  but  not  creative.  They  are 
cunning  in  expedients,  but  deficient  in  tact.  In 
love  they  are  simply  barbarous.  They  purchase 
their  wives  openly,  and  not  constructively  by  at- 
torney. By  offering  small  sums  for  their  sweet- 
hearts, they  degrade  the  value  of  the  sex. 


N  N. 


181 


Nevertheless,  N  N.  felt  he  was  saved.  He  ex- 
plained all  to  the  faithful  Mongolian,  and  exhibited 
the  letter  he  had  written.  He  implored  him  to 
deliver  it. 

The  Mongolian  assented.  The  race  are  not 
cleanly  or  sweet-savored,  but  N  N.  fell  upon  his 
neck.  He  embraced  him  with  one  hand,  and 
closed  his  nostrils  with  the  other.  Through  him, 
he  felt  he  clasped  the  close-fitting  basque. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  agony  and  suspense. 
Evening  came,  but  no  Mercy.  N  N.  lit  the  char- 
coal. But,  to  compose  his  nerves,  he  closed  his 
door  and  first  walked  mildly  up  and  down  Mont- 
gomery Steeet.  When  he  returned,  he  found  the 
faithful  Mongolian  on  the  steps. 

—  AU  lity 

These  Chinese  are  not  accurate  in  their  pronuti- 
ciation.  They  avoid  the  r,  like  the  English  noble- 
man. 

N  N.  gasped  for  breath.  He  leaned  heavily 
against  the  Chinaman. 

—  Then  you  have  seen  her,  Ching  Long  ? 

—  Yes.  All  lity.  She  cum.  Top  side  of  house. 
The  docile  barbarian  pointed  up  the  stairs,  and 

chuckled. 


182 


N  N. 


—  She  here  —  impossible !   Ah,  Heaven !  do  I 

dream  ? 

—  Yes.  All  lity,  —  top  side  of  house.  Good 
by,  John. 

This  is  the  familiar  parting  epithet  of  the  Mon- 
golian.   It  is  equivalent  to  our  au  revoir, 

N  N.  gazed  with  a  stupefied  air  on  the  depart- 
ing servant. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  his  throbbing  heart.  She 
here,  —  alone  beneath  this  roof.  0  Heavens,— 
what  happiness ! 

But  how  ?  Torn  from  her  home.  Euthlessly 
dragged,  perhaps,  from  her  evening  devotions,  by 
the  hands  of  a  relentless  barbarian.  Could  she 
forgive  him  ? 

He  dashed  frantically  up  the  stairs.  He  opened 
the  door.  She  was  standing  beside  his  couch  with 
averted  face. 

A  strange  giddiness  overtook  him.  He  sank  upon 
his  knees  at  the  threshold. 

—  Pardon,  pardon.  My  angel,  can  you  forgive 
me  ? 

A  terrible  nausea  now  seemed  added  to  the  fear- 
ful giddiness.    His  utterance  grew  thick  and  slug- 

gisli. 


N  N. 


183 


—  Speak,  speak,  enchantress.  Forgiveness  is  all 
I  ask.    My  Love,  my  Life  ! 

She  did  not  answer.  He  staggered  to  his  feet. 
As  he  rose,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  pan  of  burning 
charcoal.  A  terrible  suspicion  flashed  across  his 
mind.  This  giddiness,  —  this  nausea.  The  igno- 
rance of  the  barbarian.  This  silence.  0  merciful 
heavens  !  she  was  dying  ! 

He  crawled  toward  her.  He  touched  her.  She 
fell  forward  with  a  lifeless  sound  upon  the  floor. 
He  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  threw  himself 
beside  her. 

*  *  *  *  ^ 

A  file  of  gendarmes,  accompanied  by  the  Chef 
Burke,  found  him  the  next  morning  lying  lifeless 
upon  the  floor.  They  laughed  brutally,  —  these 
cruel  minions  of  the  law,  —  and  disengaged  his 
arm  from  the  waist  of  the  wooden  dummy  which 
they  had  come  to  reclaim  for  the  mantuamaker. 

Emptying  a  few  bucketfuls  of  water  over  his 
form,  they  finally  succeeded  in  robbing  him,  not 
only  of  his  mistress,  but  of  that  Death  he  had 
coveted  without  her. 

Ah !  we  live  in  a  strange  world,  Messieurs. 


FANTINE. 


AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


PROLOGUE. 

As  long  as  there  shall  exist  three  paradoxes,  a  moral 
Frenchman,  a  rehgious  Atheist,  and  a  believing  sceptic; 
so  long,  in  fact,  as  booksellers  shall  wait  —  say  twenty-five 
years  —  for  a  new  gospel ;  so  long  as  paper  shall  remain 
cheap  and  ink  three  sous  a  bottle,  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  such  books  as  these  are  not  utterly  profitless. 

Victor  Hugo. 

I. 

To  be  good  is  to  be  queer.  What  is  a  good 
man  ?    Bishop  Myriel. 

My  friend,  you  vrill  possibly  object  to  this.  You 
will  say  you  know  what  a  good  man  is.  Perhaps 
you  will  say  your  clergyman  is  a  good  man,  for 
instance. 

Bah  !  you  are  mistaken ;  you  are  an  English- 
man, and  an  Englishman  is  a  beast. 

Englishmen  think  they  are  moral  when  they  are 


FANTINE. 


185 


only  serious.    These  Englishmen  also  wear  ill- 
shaped  hats,  and  dress  horribly! 
Bah  !  they  are  canaille. 

Still,  Bishop  Myriel  was  a  good  man,  —  quite  as 
good  as  you.    Better  than  you,  in  fact. 

One  day  M.  Myriel  was  in  Paris.  This  angel 
used  to  walk  about  the  streets  like  any  other  man. 
He  was  not  proud,  though  fine-looking.  Well, 
three  gamins  de  Paris  called  him  bad  names.  Says 
one :  — 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  there  goes  a  priest ;  look  out 
for  your  eggs  and  chickens  ! " 

What  did  this  good  man  do  ?  He  called  to  them 
kindly. 

"  My  children,"  said  he,  "  this  is  clearly  not  your 
fault.  I  recognize  in  this  insult  and  irreverence 
only  the  fault  of  your  immediate  progenitors.  Let 
us  pray  for  your  immediate  progenitors." 

They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  their  immediate 
progenitors. 

The  effect  was  touching. 

The  Bishop  looked  calmly  around. 

*'0n  reflection,"  said  he,  gravely,  "I  was  mis- 
taken ;  this  is  clearly  the  fault  of  Society.  Let  us 
pray  for  Society." 


186 


FANTINE. 


They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  Society. 

The  effect  was  sublimer  yet.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?    You,  I  mean. 

Everybody  remembers  the  story  of  the  Bishop 
^nd  Mother  Nez  Eetrousse.  Old  Mother  Nez  Ee- 
trousse  sold  asparagus.  She  was  poor ;  there 's  a 
great  deal  of  meaning  in  that  word,  my  friend. 
Some  people  say   poor  but  honest."    I  say,  Bah  ! 

Bishop  Myriel  bought  six  bunches  of  asparagus. 
This  good  man  had  one  charming  failing ;  he  was 
fond  of  asparagus.  He  gave  her  a  franc  and  re- 
ceived three  sous  change. 

The  sous  were  bad,  —  counterfeit.  What  did  this 
good  Bishop  do?  He  said:  '^I  should  not  have 
taken  change  from  a  poor  woman." 

Then  afterwards,  to  his  housekeeper:  "Never 
take  change  from  a  poor  woman." 

Then  he  added  to  himself :  "  For  the  ious  will 
probably  be  bad." 

II. 

When  a  man  commits  a  crime,  society  claps  him 
in  prison.  A  prison  is  one  of  the  worst  hotels  im- 
aginable.   The  people  there  are  low  and  vulgar. 


FANTINE. 


187 


The  butter  is  bad,  the  coffee  is  green.  Ah,  it  is 
horrible ! 

In  prison,  as  in  a  bad  hotel,  a  man  soon  loses, 
not  only  his  morals,  but  what  is  much  worse  to  a 
Frenchman,  his  sense  of  refinement  and  delicacy. 

Jean  Valjean  came  from  prison  with  confused 
notions  of  society.  He  forgot  the  modern  pecu- 
liarities of  hospitality.  So  he  walked  off  with  the 
Bishop's  candlesticks. 

Let  us  consider :  candlesticks  were  stolen ;  that 
was  evident.  Society  put  Jean  Valjean  in  prison ; 
that  was  evident,  too.  In  prison.  Society  took 
away  his  refinement ;  that  is  evident,  likewise. 

Who  is  Society  ? 

You  and  I  are  Society. 

My  friend,  you  and  I  stole  those  candlesticks  ! 
III. 

The  Bishop  thought  so,  too.  He  meditated 
profoundly  for  six  days.  On  the  morning  of  the 
seventh  he  went  to  the  Prefecture  of  Police. 

He  said :  "  Monsieur,  have  me  arrested.  I  have 
stolen  candlesticks." 


188 


FANTINE. 


The  official  was  governed  by  the  law  of  Society, 
and  refused. 

What  did  this  Bishop  do  ? 

He  had  a  charming  ball  and  chain  made,  affixed 
to  his  leg,  and  wore  it  the  rest  of  his  life. 

This  is  a  fact ! 

IV. 

Love  is  a  mystery. 

A  little  friend  of  mine  down  in  the  country,  at 
Auvergne,  said  to  me  one  day :  Victor,  Love  is 
the  world,  —  it  contains  everything." 

She  was  only  sixteen,  this  sharp-witted  little 
girl,  and  a  beautiful  blonde.  She  thought  every- 
thing of  me. 

Fantine  was  one  of  those  women  who  do  wrong 
in  the  most  virtuous  and  touching  manner.  This 
is  a  peculiarity  of  French  grisettes. 

You  are  an  Englishman,  and  you  don't  under- 
stand. Learn,  my  friend,  learn.  Come  to  Paris 
and  improve  your  morals. 

Fantine  was  the  soul  of  modesty.  She  always 
wore  high-neck  dresses.  High-neck  dresses  are  a 
sign  of  modesty. 


FANTINE. 


189 


Fantine  loved  Tholmoyes.  Why?  My  God! 
What  are  you  to  do  ?  It  was  the  fault  of  her 
parents,  and  she  had  n't  any.  How  shall  you 
teach  her?  You  must  teach  the  parent  if  you 
wish  to  educate  the  child.  How  would  you  be- 
come virtuous  ? 

Teach  your  grandmother ! 

V. 

When  Tholmoyes  ran  away  from  Fantine, —  * 
which  was  done  in  a  charming,  gentlemanly 
manner,  —  Fantine  became  convinced  that  a  rigid 
sense  of  propriety  might  look  upon  her  conduct  as 
immoral.  She  was  a  creature  of  sensitiveness,  — 
and  her  eyes  were  opened. 

She  was  virtuous  still,  and  resolved  to  break  off 
the  liaison  at  once. 

So  she  put  up  her  wardrobe  and  baby  in  a 
bundle.  Child  as  she  was,  she  loved  them  both. 
Then  left  Park 

VI. 

Fantine's  native  place  had  changed. 

M.  Madeline  —  an  angel,  and  inventor  of  jet- 


190 


FANTINE. 


work — had  been  teaching  the  villagers  how  to 
make  spurious  jet. 

This  is  a  progressive  age.  Those  Americans, — 
children  of  the  West,  —  they  make  nutmegs  out 
of  wood. 

I,  myself,  have  seen  hams  made  of  pine,  in  the 
wigwams  of  those  children  of  the  forest. 

But  civilization  has  acquired  deception  too. 
Society  is  made  up  of  deception.  Even  the  best 
French  society. 

Still  there  was  one  sincere  episode. 

Eh? 

The  French  Eevolution ! 

VII. 

M.  Madeline  was,  if  anything,  better  than 
Myriel. 

M.  Myriel  was  a  saint.  M.  Madeline  a  good  • 
man. 

M.  Myriel  was  dead.    M.  Madeline  was  living. 
That  made  all  the  difference. 
M.  Madeline  made  virtue  profitably    I  have 
seen  it  written  :  — 

"  Be  virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy  " 


FANTINE. 


191 


Where  did  I  see  this  written  ?  In  the  modern 
Bible  ?  No.  In  the  Koran  ?  No.  In  Eousseau  ? 
No.    Diderot?    No.    Where  then? 

In  a  copy-book. 

VIII. 

M.  Madeline  was  M.  le  Maire. 
This  is  how  it  came  about. 
Tor  a  long  time  he  refused  the  honor.    One  day 
an  old  woman,  standing  on  the  steps,  said  :  — 
"  Bah,  a  good  mayor  is  a  good  thing. 

You  are  a  good  thing. 
"  Be  a  good  mayor." 

This  woman  was  a  rhetorician.  She  understood 
inductive  ratiocination. 

IX. 

When  this  good  M.  Madeline,  whom  the  reader 
will  perceive  must  have  been  a  former  convict, 
and  a  very  bad  man,  gave  himself  up  to  justice 
as  the  real  Jean  Valjean,  about  this  same  time, 
Fantine  was  turned  away  from  the  manufactory^ 
and  met  with  a  number  of  losses  from  society. 
Society  attacked  her,  and  this  is  what  she  lost :  — 


192 


FANTINE. 


First  her  lover. 
Then  her  child. 
Then  her  place. 
Then  her  hair. 
Then  her  teeth. 
Then  her  liberty. 
Then  her  life. 

What  do  you  think  of  society  after  that  ?  '  I 
tell  you  the  present  social  system  is  a  humbug. 

X. 

This  is  necessarily  the  end  of  Fantine. 

There  are  other  things  that  will  be  stated  in 
other  volumes  to  follow.  Don't  be  alarmed; 
there  are  plenty  of  miserable  people  left. 

Au  revoir  —  my  friend. 


"LA  FEMME." 

AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  M.  MICHELET. 


L 

WOMEN  AS  AN  INSTITUTION. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  women,  few  of  us  would  at 
present  be  in  existence."  This  is  the  remark  of  a 
cautious  and  discreet  writer.  He  was  also  saga- 
cious and  intelligent. 

Woman !  Look  upon  her  and  admire  her.  Gaze 
upon  her  and  love  her.  If  she  wishes  to  embrace 
you,  permit  her.  Eemember  she  is  weak  and  you 
are  strong. 

But  don't  treat  her  unkindly.  Don't  make  love 
to  another  woman  before  her  face,  even  if  she  be 
your  wife.  Don't  do  it.  Always  be  polite,  even 
should  she  fancy  somebody  better  than  you. 

If  your  mother,  my  dear  Amadis,  had  not  fan- 
cied your  father  better  than  somebody,  you  might 

9  M 


194 


"LA  FEMME." 


have  been  that  somebody's  son.  Consider  this. 
Always  be  a  philosopher,  even  about  women. 

Few  men  understand  women.  Frenchmen,  per- 
haps, better  than  any  one  else.  I  am  a  French- 
man. 


II. 

THE  INFANT. 

She  is  a  child  —  a  little  thing  —  an  infant. 

She  has  a  mother  and  father.  Let  us  suppose, 
for  example,  they  are  married.  Let  us  be  moral 
if  we  cannot  be  happy  and  free  —  they  are  mar- 
ried —  perhaps  —  they  love  one  another  —  who 
knows  ? 

But  she  knows  nothing  of  this ;  she  is  an  infant 
—  a  small  thing  —  a  trifle  ! 

She  is  not  lovely  at  first.  It  is  cruel,  perhaps, 
but  she  is  red,  and  positively  ugly.  She  feels  this 
keenly  and  cries.  She  weeps.  Ah,  my  God,  how 
she  weeps  !  Her  cries  and  lamentations  now  are 
really  distressing. 

Tears  stream  from  her  in  floods.  She  feels 
deeply  and  copiously  like  M.  Alphonse  de  La- 
martine  in  his  Confessions, 


"LA  FEMME." 


195 


If  you  are  her  mother,  Madame,  you  will  fancy 
worms ;  you  will  examine  her  linen  for  pins,  and 
what  not.  Ah,  hypocrite  !  you,  even  you,  misun- 
derstand her. 

Yet, she  has  charming  natural  impulses.  See 
how  she  tosses  her  dimpled  arms.  She  looks 
longingly  at  her  mother.  She  has  a  langniage  of 
her  own.    She  says,  "  goo  goo,"  and    ga  ga." 

She  demands  something  —  this  infant ! 

She  is  faint,  poor  thing.  She  famishes.  She 
wishes  to  be  restored.    Eestore-  her,  Mother  ! 

It  is  the  first  duty  of  a  mother  to  restore  her 
child  ! 


III. 

THE  DOLL. 

She  is  hardly  able  to  walk ;  she  already  totters 
under  the  weight  of  a  doll. 

It  is  a  charming  and  elegant  affair.  It  has 
pink  cheeks  and  purple-black  hair.  She  prefers 
brunettes,  for  she  has  already,  with  the  quiet 
knowledge  of  a  French  infant,  perceived  she  is  a 
blonde,  and  that  her  doll  cannot  rival  her.  'Mon 


196 


"LA  FEMME." 


Dieu,  how  touching  !  Happy  child  !  She  spends 
hours  in  preparing  its  toilet.  She  begins  to 
show  her  taste  in  the  exquisite  details  of  its  dress. 
She  loves  it  madly,  devotedly.  She  will  prefer  it 
to  honhons.  She  already  anticipates  the  wealth  of 
love  she  will  hereafter  pour  out  on  her  lover,  her 
mother,  her  father,  and  finally,  perhaps,  her  hus- 
band. 

This  is  the  time  the  anxious  parent  will  guide 
these  first  outpourings.  She  will  read  her  extracts 
from  Michelet's  Amour,  Eousseau's  Heloise,  and 
the  Bevu6  des  deux  Mondes. 


IV. 

THE   MUD  PIE. 

She  was  in  tears  to-day. 

She  had  stolen  away  from  her  honne  and  was 
with  some  rustic  infants.  They  had  noses  in  the 
air,  and  large,  coarse  hands  and  feet. 
•  They  had  seated  themselves  around  a  pool  in  the 
road,  and  were  fashioning  fantastic  shapes  in  the 
clayey  soil  with  their  hands.    Her  throat  swelled 


"  LA  FEMME.'» 


197 


and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as,  for  the  first 
time,  her  soft  palms  touched  the  plastic  mud.  She 
made  a  graceful  and  lovely  pie.  She  stuffed  it 
with  stones  for  almonds  and  plums.  She  forgot 
everything.  It  was  being  baked  in  the  solar  rays, 
when  madame  came  and  took  her  away. 

She  weeps.    It  is  night,  and  she  is  weeping  stilL 


V. 

HER    FIRST  LOVE. 

She  no  longer  doubts  her  beauty.    She  is  loved. 

She  saw  him  secretly.  He  is  vivacious  and 
sprightly.  He  is  famous.  He  has  already  had  an 
affair  with  Finfin,  the  fille  de  chamhre,  and  poor 
Finfin  is  desolate.  He  is  noble.  She  knows  he  is 
the  son  of  Madame  la  Baronne  Couturi^re.  She 
adores  him. 

She  affects  not  to  notice  him.  Poor  little  thing  ! 
Hippolyte  is  distracted  —  annihilated  —  inconsola- 
ble and  charming. 

She  admires  his  boots,  his  cravat,  his  little  gloves 
—  his  exquisite  pantaloons  —  his  coat,  and  cane. 


198 


"LA  FEMME." 


She  offers  to  run  away  with  him.  He  is  trans- 
ported, but  magnanimous.  He  is  wearied,  perhaps. 
She  sees  him  the  next  day  offering  flowers  to  the 
daughter  of  Madame  la  Comtesse  Blanchisseuse. 

She  is  again  in  tears. 

She  reads  Paul  et  Virginie.  She  is  secretly  trans- 
ported. When  she  reads  how  the  exemplary  young 
woman  laid  down  her  life  rather  than  appear  en 
deshabille  to  her  lover,  she  weeps  again.  Taste- 
ful and  virtuous  Bernardino  de  St.  Pierre  !  — -  the 
daughters  of  France  admire  you  ! 

All  this  time  her  doll  is  headless  in  the  cabinet. 
The  mud  pie  is  broken  on  the  road. 


VI. 

THE  WIFE. 

She  is  tired  of  loving  and  she  marries. 

Her  mother  thinks  it,  on  the  whole,  the  best 
thing.  As  the  day  approaches,  she  is  found  fre- 
quently in  tears.  Her  mother  will  not  permit  the 
afi&anced  one  to  see  her,  and  he  makes  several  at- 
tempts to  commit  suicide. 


"LA  FEMME." 


199 


But  something  happens.  Perhaps  it  is  winter, 
and  the  water  is  cold.  Perhaps  there  are  not 
enough  people  present  to  witness  his  heroism. 

In  this  way  her  future  husband  is  spared  to  her. 
The  ways  of  Providence  are  indeed  mysterious. 
At  this  time  her  mother  will  talk  with  her.  She 
will  offer  philosophy.  She  will  tell  her  she  was 
married  herself. 

But  what  is  this  new  and  ravishing  light  that 
breaks  upon  her  ?  The  toilet  and  wedding 
clothes  !    She  is  in  a  new  sphere. 

She  makes  out  her  list  in  her  own  charming 
writing.    Here  it  is.    Let  every  mother  heed  it.* 
^le  *  *  *  * 

She  is  married.  On  the  day  after,  she  meets  her 
old  lover,  Hippolyte.    He  is  again  transported. 


VIK 

HER    OLD  AGE. 

A  Frenchwoman  never  grows  old. 

*  The  delicate  reader  wiU  appreciate  the  omission  of  certain 
articles  for  which  English  synonymes  are  forbidden. 


MARY  MCGILLTJP. 

A  SOUTHERN  NOVEL. 

After  BELLE  BOYD. 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  G.  A.  S — LA. 


INTRODUCTION. 
"  Will  you  write  me  up  ?  " 

The  scene  was  near  Temple  Bar.  The  speaker  was  the 
famous  rebel  Mary  McG-illup,  —  a  young  girl  of  fragile  frame, 
and  long,  lustrous  black  hair.  I  must  confess  that  the  ques- 
tion was  a  peculiar  one,  and,  under  the  circumstances,  some- 
what puzzling.  It  was  true  I  had  been  kindly  treated  by 
the  Northerners,  and,  though  prejudiced  against  them,  was  y 
to  some  extent  under  obligations  to  them.  It  was  true  that 
I  knew  little  or  nothing  of  American  politics,  history,  or 
geography.  But  when  did  an  English  writer  ever  weigh 
such  trifles  ?  Turning  to  the  speaker,  I  inquired  with  some 
caution  the  amount  of  pecuniary  compensation  offered  for 
the  work. 

"  Sir  !  "  she  said,  drawing  her  fragile  form  to  its  full  height^ 
"  you  insult  me,  —  you  insult  the  South." 

"But  look  ye  here,  d'  ye  see  —  the  tin  —  the  blunt  —  the 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


201 


ready  —  tlie  stiff,  you  know.  Don't  ye  see,  we  can't  do 
without  that,  you  know  I  " 

"  It  shall  be  contingent  on  the  success  of  the  story,"  she 
answered  haughtily.  "  In  the  mean  time  take  this  precious 
gem."  And  drawing  a  diamond  ring  from  her  finger,  she 
placed  it  with  a  roll  of  MSS.  in  my  hands  and  vanished. 

Although  unable  to  procure  more  than  £1  2  5.  6  d.  from 
an  intelHgent  pawnbroker  to  whom  I  stated  the  circum- 
stances and  with  whom  I  pledged  the  ring,  my  sympathies 
with  the  cause  of  a  downtrodden  and  chivalrous  people 
were  at  once  enlisted.  I  could  not  help  wondering  that 
in  rich  England,  the  home  of  the  oppressed  and  the  free,  a 
young  and  lovely  woman  hke  the  fair  author  of  those  pages 
should  be  obliged  to  thus  pawn  her  jewels  —  her  marriage 
gift  —  for  the  means  to  procure  her  bread !  With  the  ex- 
ception of  the  English  aristocracy,  —  who  much  resemble 
them,  —  I  do  not  know  of  a  class  of  people  that  I  so  much 
admire  as  the  Southern  planters.  May  I  become  better 
acquainted  with  both! 

Since  writing  the  above,  the  news  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  as- 
sassination has  reached  me.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say 
that  I  am  dissatisfied  with  the  result.  I  do  not  attempt  to 
excuse  the  assassin.  Yet  there  will  be  men  who  will 
charge  this  act  upon  the  chivalrous  South.  This  leads  me 
to  repeat  a  remark  once  before  made  by  me  in  this  connec- 
tion, which  has  become  justly  celebrated.    It  is  this  :  — 

"  It  is  usual,  in  cases  of  murder,  to  look  for  the  criminal 
9* 


202 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


among  those  who  expect  to  be  benefited  by  the  crime.  In 
the  death  of  Lincoln,  his  immediate  successor  in  office  alone 
receives  the  benefit  of  his  dying." 

If  her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria  were  assassinated,  which 
Heaven  forbid,  the  one  most  benefited  by  her  decease 
would,  of  course,  be  his  Eoyal  Highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  her  immediate  successor.  It  would  be  unnecessary 
to  state  that  suspicion  would  at  once  point  to  the  real 
culprit,  which  would  of  course  be  his  Royal  Highness. 
This  is  logic. 

But  I  have  done.  After  having  thus  stated  my  opinion 
in  favor  of  the  South,  I  would  merely  remark  that  there  is 
One  who  judgeth  all  things,  —  who  weigheth  the  cause  be- 
tween brother  and  brother,  —  and  awardeth  the  perfect 
retribution;  and  whose  ultimate  decision  I,  as  a  British 
subject,  have  only  anticipated. 

Gr,  A.  S. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Every  reader  of  Belle  Boyd's  narrative  will  re- 
member an  allusion  to  a  "  lovely,  fragile-looking 
girl  of  nineteen/'  who  rivalled  BeUe  Boyd  in  devo- 
tion to  the  Southern  cause,  and  who,  like  her, 
earned  the  enviable  distinction  of  being  a  "  rebel 
spy." 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


203 


I  am  that  "  fragile  "  young  creature.  Although 
on  friendly  terms  with  the  late  Miss  Boyd,  now 
Mrs.  Hardinge,  candor  compels  me  to  state  that 
nothing  but  our  common  politics  prevents  me 
from  exposing  the  ungenerous  spirit  she  has  dis- 
played in  this  allusion.  To  be  dismissed  in  a 
single  paragraph  after  years  of —  But  I  anticipate. 
To  put  up  with  this  feeble  and  forced  acknowl- 
edgment of  services  rendered  would  be  a  confes- 
sion of  a  craven  spirit,  which,  thank  God,  though 
^'fragile  "  and  only  nineteen^'  I  do  not  possess. 
I  may  not  have  the  "  hlood  of  a  Hotvard  "  in  my 
veins,  as  some  people,  whom  I  shall  not  disgrace 
myself  by  naming,  claim  to  have,  but  I  have  yet 
to  learn  that  the  race  of  McGillup  ever  yet  brooked 
slight  or  insult.  I  shall  not  say  that  attention  in 
certain  quarters  seems  to  have  turned  some  people's 
heads  ;  nor  that  it  would  have  been  more  delicate 
if  certain  folks  had  kept  quiet  on  the  subject  of 
their  courtship,  and  the  rejection  of  certain  offers, 
when  it  is  known  that  their  forward  conduct 
was  all  that  procured  them  a  husband  !  Thank 
Heaven,  the  South  has  some  daughters  who  are 
above  such  base  considerations  !    While  nothing 


204 


MAEY  MCGILLUP. 


shall  tempt  me  to  reveal  the  promises  to  share 
equally  the  fame  of  certain  enterprises,  which 
were  made  by  one  who  shall  now  be  nameless,  I 
have  deemed  it  only  just  to  myself  to  put  my  own 
adventures  upon  record.  If  they  are  not  equal  to 
those  of  another  individual,  it  is  because,  though 
"fragile,"  my  education  has  taught  me  to  have 
some  consideration  for  the  truth.    I  am  done. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  WAS  born  in  Missouri.  My  dislike  for  the 
Northern  scum  was  inherent.  This  was  shown,  at 
an  early  age,  in  the  extreme  distaste  I  exhibited 
for  Webster's  spelling-book,  —  the  work  of  a  well- 
known  Eastern  Abolitionist.  I  cannot  be  too  grate- 
ful for  the  consideration  shown  by  my  chivalrous 
father,  —  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  —  who 
resisted  to  the  last  an  attempt  to  introduce  Mitch- 
ell's Astronomy  and  Geography  into  the  public 
school  of  our  district.  When  I  state  that  this 
same  Mitchell  became  afterward  a  hirehng  helot 
in  the  Yankee  Army,  every  intelligent  reader  will 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


20$ 


appreciate  the  prophetic  discrimination  of  this  true 
son  of  the  Scgiith. 

I  was  eight  years  old  when  I  struck  the  first 
blow  for  Southern  freedom  against  the  Northern 
Tyrant.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that  in 
this  instance  the  oppressor  was  a  pale,  overworked 
New  England  schoolmarm."  The  principle  for 
which  I  was  contending,  I  felt,  however,  to  be  the 
same.  Eesenting  an  affront  put  upon  me,  I  one 
day  heaved  a  rock*  at  the  head  of  the  Vandal 
schoolmistress.  I  was  seized  and  overpowered. 
My  pen  falters  as  I  reach  the  climax.  Enghsh 
readers  will  not  give  credit  to  this  sickening  story, 
—  the  civilized  world  will  avert  its  head,  —  but  I, 
Mary  McGillup,  was  publicly  spanked  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

But  the  chaotic  vortex  of  civil  war  approached, 
and  fell  destruction,  often  procrastinated,  brooded 
in  storm.-}-    As  the  English  people  may  like  to 

*  Note,  by  G.  A.  S.  —  In  tlie  Southwest,  any  stone  larger 
than  a  pea  is  termed  **a  rock.'* 

+  I  make  no  pretension  to  fine  writing,  but  perhaps  Mrs. 
Hardinge  can  lay  over  that.    0,  of  course  i  M.  McG. 


206 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


know  what  was  really  the  origin  of  the  rebellion, 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  them  the  true  and 
only  cause.  Slavery  had  nothing  to  do  with  it, 
although  the  violation  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, in  the  disregard  by  the  North  of  the 
Fugitive  Slave  Law,*  might  have  provoked  a  less 
fiery  people  than  the  Southrons.  At  the  inception 
of  the  struggle  a  large  amount  of  Southern  indebt- 
edness was  held  by  the  people  of  the  North.  To 
force  payment  from  the  generous  but  insolvent 
debtor  —  to  obtain  liquidation  from  the  Southern 
planter  —  was  really  the  soulless  and  mercenary 
object  of  the  craven  Northerners.  Let  the  com- 
mon people  of  England  look  to  this.  Let  the  im- 
provident literary  hack ;  the  starved  impecunious 
Grub  Street  debtor ;  the  newspaper  frequenter  of 
sponging-houses,  remember  this  in  their  criticisms 
of  the  vile  and  slavish  Yankee. 

*  The  Declaration  of  Independence  grants  to  each  subject 
"the  pursuit  of  life,  liberty,  and  happiness."  A  fugitive  slave 
may  be  said  to  personify  life,  liberty,  and  happiness."  Hence 
his  pursuit  is  really  legal.    This  is  logic.  G.  A.  S. 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


207 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

The  roasting  of  an  Abolitionist,  by  a  greatly- 
infuriated  community,  was  my  first  taste  of  the 
horrors  of  civil  war.  Heavens !  Why  will  the 
North  persist  in  this  fratricidal  warfare?  The 
expulsion  of  several  Union  refugees,  which  soon 
followed,  now  fairly  plunged  my  beloved  State  in 
the  seething  vortex. 

I  was  sitting  at  the  piano  one  afternoon,  singing 
that  stirring  refrain,  so  justly  celebrated,  but  which 
a  craven  spirit,  unworthy  of  England,  has  excluded 
from  some  of  her  principal  restaurants,  and  was 
dwelling  with  spme  enthusiasm  on  the  following 
line :  — 

Huzza  !  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum  ! " 

when  a  fragment  of  that  scum,  clothed  in  that 
detestable  blue  uniform  which  is  the  symbol  of 
oppression,  entered  the  apartment.  ''I  have  the 
honor  of  addressing  the  celebrated  rebel  spy.  Miss 
McGillup,"  said  the  Vandal  officer. 

In  a  moment  I  was  perfectly  calm.    With  the 


208 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


exception  of  slightly  expectorating  twice  in  the 
face  of  the  minion,  I  did  not  betray  my  agitation. 
Haughtily,  yet  firmly,  I  replied  :  — 
I  am." 

"  You  looked  as  if  you  might  be,"  the  brute 
replied,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  to  leave  the 
apartment. 

In  an  instant  I  threw  myself  before  him.  You 
shall  not  leave  here  thus,"  I  shrieked,  grappling 
him  with  an  energy  which  no  one,  seeing  my  frail 
figure,  would  have  believed.  I  know  the  reputa- 
tion of  your  hireling  crew.  I  read  your  dreadful 
purpose  in  your  eye.  Tell  me  not  that  your 
designs  are  not  sinister.  You  came  here  to  in- 
sult me,  —  to  kiss  me,  perhaps.  You  sha'  n't,  — 
you  naughty  man.    Go  away ! " 

The  blush  of  conscious  degradation  rose  to  the 
cheek  of  the  Lincoln  hireling  as  he  turned  his  face 
away  from  mine. 

In  an  instant  I  drew  my  pistol  from  my  belt, 
which,  in  anticipation  of  some  such  outrage,  I 
always  carried,  and  shot  him. 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


209 


CHAPTER  V. 

*'Thy  forte  was  less  to  act  than  speak, 

Maryland ! 
Thy  politics  were  changed  each  week, 

Maryland ! 
"With  Northern  Vandals  thou  wast  meek, 
With  sympathizers  thou  wouldst  shriek, 
I  know  thee  —  0,  't  was  like  thy  cheek  ! 

Maryland  !  my  Maryland  ! " 

After  committing  the  act  described  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  which  every  English  reader  will 
pardon,  I  went  up  stairs,  put  on  a  clean  pair  of 
stockings,  and,  placing  a  rose  in  my  lustrous  black 
hair,  proceeded  at  once  to  the  camp  of  Generals 
Price  and  Mosby  to  put  them  in  possession  of  in- 
formation which  would  lead  to  the  destruction  of 
a  portion  of  the  Federal  Army.  During  a  great 
part  of  my  flight  I  was  exposed  to  a  running 
fire  from  the  Federal  pickets  of  such  coarse  ex- 
pressions as,  "Go  it,  Sally  Eeb,"  "Dust  it,  my 
Confederate  beauty,"  but  I  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  glorious  Southern  camp  uninjured. 


210 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


In  a  week  afterwards  I  was  arrested,  by  a  lettre 
de  cachet  of  Mr.  Stanton,  and  placed  in  the  Bastile. 
British,  readers  of  my  story  will  express  surprise 
at  these  terms,  but  I  assure  them  that  not  only 
these  articles  but  tumbrils,  guillotines,  and  concier- 
geries  were  In  active  use  among  the  Federals.  If 
substantiation  be  required,  I  refer  to  the  Charles- 
ton Mercury,  the  only  reliable  organ,  next  to 
the  New  York  Daily  News,  published  in  the  coun- 
try. At  the  Bastile  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  accomplished  and  elegant  author  of  Guy 
Livingstone,^  to  whom  I  presented  a  curiously 
carved  thigh-bone  of  a  Union  officer,  and  from 
whom  I  received  the  following  beautiful  acknowl- 
edgment :  — 

"  Demoiselle : — Should  I  ever  win  hame  to  my  ain  countrie, 
I  make  mine  avow  to  enshrine  in  my  reliquaire  this  elegant 
bijouterie  and  offering  of  La  Belle  Rehelle,  Nay,  methinkg 
this  fraction  of  man's  anatomy  were  some  compensation 
for  the  rib  lost  by  the  '  grand  old  gardener/  Adam." 

*  The  recent  conduct  of  Mr.  Livingstone  renders  him  un- 
worthy of  my  notice.  His  disgusting  praise  of  Belle  Boyd,  and 
complete  ignoring  of  my  claims,  show  the  artfulness  of  some 
females  and  puppyism  of  some  men.  M.  McG, 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


211 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Eeleased  at  last  from  durance  vile  and  placed 
on  board  of  an  Erie  canal-boat,  on  my  way  to 
Canada,  I  for  a  moment  breathed  the  sweets  of 
liberty.  Perhaps  the  interval  gave  me  opportu- 
nity to  indulge  in  certain  reveries  which  I  had 
hitherto  sternly  dismissed.  Henry  Breckinridge 
Eolair,  a  consistent  copperhead,  captain  of  the 
canal-boat,  again  and  again  pressed  that  suit  I 
had  so  often  rejected. 

It  was  a  lovely  moonlight  night.  We  sat  on 
the  deck  of  the  gliding  craft.  The  moonbeam  and 
the  lash  of  the  driver  fell  softly  on  the  flanks  of 
the  off  horse,  and  only  the  surging  of  the  tow-rope 
broke  the  silence.  Eolair's  arm  clasped  my  waist. 
I  suffered  it  to  remain.  Placing  in  my  lap  a 
small  but  not  ungrateful  roll  of  checkerberry 
lozenges,  he  took  the  occasion  to  repeat  softly  in 
my  ear  the  words  of  a  motto  he  had  just  un- 
wrapped —  with  its  graceful  covering  of  the  tissue 
paper  —  from  a  sugar  almond.  The  heart  of  the 
wicked  little  rebel,  Mary  McGillup,  was  won ! 


212 


MARY  MCGILLUP. 


The  story  of  Mary  McGillup  is  done.  I  might 
have  added  the  journal  of  my  husband,  Henry 
Breckinridge  Folair,  but  as  it  refers  chiefly  to  his 
freights,  and  a  schedule  of  his  passengers,  I  have 
been  obliged,  reluctantly,  to  suppress  it. 

It  is  due  to  my  friends  to  say  that  I  have  been 
requested  not  to  write  this  book.  Expressions 
have  reached  my  ears,  the  reverse  of  complimen- 
tary. I  have  been  told  that  its  publication  will 
probably  insure  my  banishment  for  life.  Be  it  so. 
If  the  cause  for  which  I  labored  have  been  sub- 
served, I  am  content. 

London,  May,  1865. 


THE  END. 


University  Press :  John  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


mi 


